


Non-Stop

by OCWotchny



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Ana being an ass, F/F, F/M, Fluff, Jack is just a giant baby bless him, M/M, Smut, also i wonder how often i can quote hamilton before it counts as plagiarism l m f a o, holy shit its finally a m/m fic for jack morrison about god damn time, poor Reyes and Ana really have their hands full
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-29
Updated: 2016-10-27
Packaged: 2018-08-18 12:35:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 10
Words: 33,650
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8162267
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OCWotchny/pseuds/OCWotchny
Summary: When a satirical piece is published about Jack Morrison, he reaches out to try and change the opinion of the writer before things can get ugly. It goes downhill from there.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> i came to terms a long time ago with the fact that being a writer means having the liberty to create what i want when i want how i want it. To simplify; this is entirely self-indulgent and you can quite literally eat my ass if you wanna gripe about it (ง •̀_•́)ง

Ana adored Jack. She really, really, did. The two of them, along with Reyes, had been through alot together. The trio had fought an entire war, _won_ an entire war, and built up an entire organization dedicated to keeping the peace in the world. The sniper looked at the two of them like her brothers; like her children.

What she did not adore, however, was how absolutely goddamn mopey he got whenever anything went wrong. It astounded her! This is the man who, when they were up to their eyes in killer robots with cannons and gattling guns with little to no chance of survival and much less success, kept a smile on his face and supported his fellow soldiers no matter how grim things looked. All of his heroism had apparently left him off the battlefield, however, and the tiniest of inconveniences or insults had him pouting and acting foul for days.

Despite this, she loved him dearly, and was compelled to ask what the hell it was that brought him down every single time.

This is what she had to do today, when she walked into his office and saw Jack slumped over his desk, cheek against the cold wood while he glared at the far wall and groaned out some low, childish moan that she knew would be over something stupid. The office looked completely untouched, which meant that this had kept him from doing any work at all. A clock quietly ticked from the wall, keeping a steady beat to his uneven groans. A small house plant stood a little wilted in the corner next to the window, falling away from the filing cabinet it was tucked into. 

“... You know I’m going to ask, Jack. Spit it o--” 

A hand slams on the desk, pinning a slightly-crumpled newspaper to the surface. A few pencils scatter from the shock, one tumbling over the edge. Ana picks it up when she strides over to grab the article from him. A quick scan through the first page, and she finds what has to be what made her friend so upset.

She lets out a mischievous, delighted cackle. “Ohoho, Morrison. Look who’s famous! Right here on the cover; a full piece on your candidacy. I didn’t know people would make such a big deal of it, habibty.”

"I can't _believe_ someone wrote something like this about me!" The soldier throws himself back, spinning in his chair while sliding away from the desk. “They even say right there that they don’t know the ‘real’ Jack Morrison-- whatever that means! And I-- I am not--” He sputters, fuming. For a second, Ana looks at the tall blonde raging around his office, and she wonders once again why she hasn’t hit that. It wasn’t often she thought it, though maybe when the light hit him right, or he said something particularly heroic… Why hadn’t she taken him to bed?

Jack rolls up to her during her internal dilemma with an expression akin to a puppy after it had been punished. “I am not some ‘golden pretty boy’! I’m at _least_ considered handsome! Or sexy!”

Ah, yes. Because he was a cretin.

The woman snorts and puts her hand to his face, shoving him back. He grunts. “I consider you to be an ass, myself-- though I’ll agree with them on the ‘boy’ part. You need to grow up and deal with this yourself, Jack! I cannot fight your battles always, you know this. Not to mention, it does not seem like there is much I can do in the first place. You need to go and find this person out-- who is the writer?”

Morrison waves his hand with a grumble, mumbling. “Someone named _Alexia_ \-- it’s not their real name, I think. They use it for a moniker, or something.”

Ana ponders the name for a second, and immediately gets the joke behind it. A mature snicker, and she cocks her hips. “Well then! They sound lovely, if they have such good taste in titles. And, they think you’re pretty! So, put your grown-up pants on, and try and contact them to smooth this over, if it’s such a big deal.”

He was spinning in the chair again, so she couldn’t quite see, but the mother in her felt the roll of his eyes. “Yeah, yeah. They have an email I can use to get in contact with them.” If it had been Fareeha, she’d be collecting her eyes from the ground right now. Ana has to restrain herself to keep from smacking the back of his head like she wants.

“Good! Get on it, then! I give you my blessing, dear.” A turn on her heel, and she’s waving goodbye as long ebony tresses swish with every step. 

 

~*~

_Alexia,_

_I am writing to ask if you could possibly consider maybe meeting me in order to discuss the article you wrote about me today. I am concerned over the contents of it, as I don’t think that you had any evidence or reason to say such things. I would like to remedy whatever it is that I did to possibly hurt you enough that you would publish such an opinion._

_Thanks,  
Jack Morrison_

The officer reads his message over again, and then moves his cursor down to hit send. Immediately after, he regrets it, and has to leave to go to do something else and avoid staring at a screen for a reply.

He’s thankful, however, when he returns shortly after-- curiosity getting the best of him. On his screen blinks a flashing notification, showing him that a message had been received. It had only been ten minutes, and there was a reply? Jack was impressed, and slightly relieved. He opens it and reads the response.

_Mr. Morrison_

_I am sorry to hear that I seemed to have hurt you as bad as I did. Though, it is refreshing to hear that you read my work! To know that it’s read by a big-shot such as yourself warms my heart-- just enough that I’ll agree to your request. I can join you whenever you have time available? Please respond so I can try and fit it into my schedule._

_Forever Yours,  
Alexia_

 

Jack’s breathing slows, and he stares at the monitor without making a move for a minute. He places his hands over the keyboard, but his fingers pause before typing as he contemplates how to respond to this. The message was different from what he’d received in the past; usually, they had a tone of respect or reverence, due to his status(or maybe the fact that he was a super soldier. He tried to hope it was the former). This, despite the initial email he had sent in accusation, still carried an air of levity and nonchalance. It was a little off-putting-- He wasn’t used to civilians talking to him like an equal.

_Alexia,_

_I have tomorrow free, if you can make it in. Please bring something to write, whether it is electronic or standard pen and paper._

_Thanks,  
Jack Morrison_

There. That should be enough. He’s about to head off again, but before he knows it, there’s another ‘+1’ over his inbox. The soldier clicks on it immediately.

_Mr. Morrison_

_I’ll see you then! I’ll come in around noon-- It’s a date._

_Forever Yours,  
Alexia_

Morrison falls back onto his chair, head hanging over the backrest so he can glare at the window his desk sat in front of. Tomorrow was going to be a long day.

~*~

Gabriel Reyes whistled a tune as he strolled down the corridor, the mug of coffee in his hand leaving a small trail of steam in his wake. It was late in the evening, and he had needed something to calm his nerves-- caffeine had always done that for him, instead of waking him up like it should have. A drink of black gold left him feeling calm and collected.

Ana Amari, on the other hand, had the opposite effect.

“Going to bed so early, Reyes?”

The commander jumps, swearing in spanish and splashing hot substance all over his hand. He switches it to his other hand quickly, shaking and blowing on the now-burnt one. “Ay, Amari! The fuck did I tell you about sneaking around that!”

His comrade laughs, reaching up and flipping a lock of hair over her shoulder. “Come now-- was it really so startling, _habibi?_ I am but a little girl. Surely, I can’t scare you so easily?” Her voice, per usual, was as motherly and lackadaisical as ever. Gabriel grumbled under his breath. 

“ _Callate, pendeja_ \-- You’re not someone I like sneaking arou-- _¡Ay! ¿¡Para qué!?_ ” He rubs the spot on his shoulder where Amari had socked him, glaring daggers at the egyptian. Ana glares right back, putting her hands on her hips and squaring her shoulders. “I’m not stupid, _behiima!_ Do not call me such things, or next time I’ll add another scar to that face of yours!” 

Ouch. Harsh. Reyes was kind of sad that he was so used to this-- why were they friends again?

“Alright, alright! What do you need, chica?” 

Ana’s disposition changes, and the latino isn’t exactly sure which one was scarier; her wrath, or this god-awful grin that meant she knew something--. He thinks he likes her angry more. The look she had now couldn’t mean anything good. His mug is brought up to his lips for a swallow of coffee.

“Jack’s got a date tomorrow.”

He thinks he’s right.

Gabriel nearly chokes on his drink, coughing and spluttering at the news. “ _¡Hijo de puta!_ Warn a man before you say such things!” He runs his free hand up his forehead and under his toboggan, trying not to stress over what he’s just been told. “Ana, how can you let this happen?! He’s too young!”

The sniper giggles, bringing her hand to her lips. “Oh, hush-- our child is grown enough he can talk to someone without us there! It’s just a meeting-- though, if what I’ve read has any merits, this person is a bit of a flirt. I think it will go just swell!”

“You went through his emails?!”

“Shut up! He left his desktop open-- after asking me for help in the first place, I had the right to see how it went down!”

Reyes rolls his eyes and groans, only hoping that his friend doesn’t do anything stupid with whatever it was he had going on.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Introducing my lovely, fabulous OC!

It was 12:15.

Jack had been absolutely scrambled for the past hour and a half. He didn’t know what type of person this would be, or what to expect; they seemed to be friendly enough in email conversation, though if he looked at their writing in the paper, they could very well be a cold, brutal person. He didn’t know how well he would deal with that-- one-on-one pressure in conversation was not his forté.

A drum of his fingertips across his desk. He fiddles with a pencil, tries to twirl it around his finger, and fails. It clatters on the desk, and he settles for flicking it across the surface.

Finally, there’s a knock on the door. Jack lets out a breath of relief, and bellows out a commanding, “Come in.”

_‘Try and seem official. You can do this.’_

The door opens, and a slim figure steps through the opening. Morrison is very, very surprised at what he sees.

“You’re a _**boy?!**_ ”

In front of him, indeed, was a male. He was fairly tall, though shorter than Jack by a landslide-- about average height, truth be told. He has glossy, medium length brown hair that went down to cover his left eye, his bangs just barely brushed out of the way. Keeping the sides and majority of the length held back is a pair of sunglasses seated atop his head, a deep red frame with dark lenses. There’s a bit of bling on the hinges, which glinted in the flourescent lighting.

His face is certainly younger, and very feminine. Jack couldn’t see him older than nineteen-- certainly not as old as he sounded in writing. He had strong cheeks, and a slimmer jaw, which framed a pair of lips curled into a sure, easy grin. Above that was a longer nose, which had a contour of defining beauty. On either side of that were to bright, bemused eyes, a deep green in color, and framed by long, dark lashes. His eyebrows were furrowed to exude confidence above them, groomed to a perfect arc.

The stranger had on a faded green button-up left open, which, ironically, revealed a shirt with the Overwatch logo on it. Across his chest was a strap attached to a satchel, which rested on the back of his thigh. It tightened the clothes more than probably intended, which showed a slim, effeminate figure. On the bottom were standard tight jeans, and old, worn slip-on shoes. Overall, he looked casual, yet his physical appearance and facial expression gave the clothes a classy look; a nice aesthetic of a time long past.

One of his brows would raise in interest at the question, and his grin breaks in lieu of a small chuckle at the blonde man’s expression of disbelief. 

“I am, indeed. Why do you ask?

His voice was light, and came past his lips like a gentle breeze. It was like he was caressing a partner with his words. Jack was a little put-off, though enticed.

“A-ahem… From the name, I had always assumed you were a-- well, a girl.” Morrison straightens in his seat, and gestures to the chair in the front of his desk in an invitation for the writer to come in and sit.

The man in question bites his lip to keep from full-out beaming, closing his eyes in a silent laugh. “Yes, well, I suppose that is to be expected-- though, I don’t regret the name. It was a good joke when I chose it, and it still is to this day.”  
A joke. The soldier racks his brain, trying to think of what that meant. Now that he thought about it, Ana had laughed when she read the name yesterday, though he had assumed it was simply because of his choice of reading. What on earth made the name “Alexia” at all entertaining?

“... I’ve got nothin’. Elaborate, if you would?” He offers a shrug, relaxing a bit. So far, so good.

“Alexia,” he begins, “Is a cerebral condition that causes the loss of the ability to read or understand the written word. I liked the sound of it when I read it, and the irony of the condition is the fact that I am a writer.” As he speaks, he moves forward and takes a seat. His bag is set to rest against the chair, and one leg comes up to cross over the other. 

Jack thinks about the explanation for a moment, and then gives out a small huff of a laugh. It turns into a chuckle, and he can’t help but partake in the hidden sense of humour his guest had. 

“That’s pretty creative, I’ll give you that-- though, unfortunately, I didn’t call you here for an interview. So, _Alexia_ \--” 

“--Morgan”, he interjects. “Call me that. My name is Morgan Crux.” 

The super-soldier blinks, and then nods his head in agreement. “... Right. Anyways; Ale-- Morgan, I want to talk to you about the article you wrote. Obviously, we’ve never met before this moment. I don’t even think I’ve done much in public, other than the whole recognition ceremony that happened however long ago... I would like to ask for you to change what you said. There's no basis for it, and I don't want my image in public to be a bad one."

His words are firm, but polite. Morgan is silent for a second, staring at the man with a gaze full of interest and amusement. “... You called me here to tell me that you want me to just erase my writing? You do understand that it’s already been published and released nationwide, correct?”

Jack inhales through his nose, trying to keep patient. “No, not erase it-- just, write another one after you leave to correct what you said.” 

It’s quiet once more, with the commander staring expectantly at the brunette, who sat in thought for a good minute. His eyes wander around the room, and he gives out a small hum before answering. 

“Mm.... Nope.”

A loud bang sounds through the room as Jack slams his hands on the desk, snarling. “Listen here, brat-- If you think I’m going to sit here and let myself be slandered by a **_god damn child--_** ”

“I’m thirty one.”

The blonde freezes, his faceful of irritation draining into one of confusion as he sits up and cocks his head. “... Excuse me?”

Morgan raises his eyebrows, unimpressed. “Well, that’s disappointing. Here I was hoping you were a fan… Let me lay it out for you, so you get the picture; I am Morgan ‘Alexia’ Crux, a thirty one year old, single independent writer for the Swiss newspaper. I’m the main writer, with the only people above me being my editor and the owner of the business. I write political satire in the editorial section. In other words; I’m a bit of a big deal. I’ve been doing this for longer than you’ve been doing your job-- I started when I was seventeen, back in thirty-nine. Now, it’s fifty-three, and I’m here. There you go.”

Jack is speechless. This man looked like he had just started college, and yet...

Morgan continues on when he doesn't get a response. “Besides my little backstory, I didn’t really get to choose what I wrote at the time. As I said, I’m a satirical writer, and my boss told me to pick some shining star to write on. Your name just happened to be where my pen fell. Other than that, I didn’t get much say in what I wrote.”

A groan rings out from the opposite man at this. “I get that, but still! You said yourself- the world doesn’t know the ‘real’ me! How can you write on that, huh? Get to know me!”

The writer smirks, rolling his eyes. The outburst was cute. “You want me to go and ask my boss to let me contradict an entire thing I wrote? Jack, dear,” he leans forward, putting his elbow on the desk and resting his chin on his upturned palm. “Typically you take someone to dinner before being so forward. This is my career you’re talking about.”

Morrison jumps on it before he realizes what he’s doing. “Alright, then! We’ll go to dinner. You and me-- That’ll give us a chance to talk!”

There’s a second where nothing makes noise, and then the AC turns on to interrupt it.

Laughter sings from Morgan, coming out in light, rich bouts. His mouth is split into a wide smile, and he falls forward; head going to the desk as he continues to giggle and snort. Before Jack can speak, or realize what he’s offered, the smaller man sits up again, letting out a few loose giggles before nodding his head.

“Alright, then-- Dinner on Saturday. I’ll meet you there.” He stands, and picks up his bag to leave before the blonde can protest. “It was nice to actually meet you, Jack; always been a fan of yours. You didn't disappoint, either! And to think, you're actually asking me on a date. See you then!”

He takes his leave then, closing the door behind him on his way out with a click.

For the fourth time since Morgan had entered Jack's office, it is absolutely silent in the room while the soldier tries to process what he just roped himself into. 

“... You have got to be kidding me.”

His head slams onto hard wood with a dull 'thud'. 

~*~

The Commander lounges around the commons area of Overwatch headquarters, unsure of what to do with himself. He’d been jaded for the rest of the day since the meeting earlier, not able to really process the fact that he had just asked the other guy out. 

Naturally, Reyes and Ana both arrive in time to mess with him for it before he went to bed.

“How’d the date go, cabrón? Was she hot? You shoulda told me you were going to see someone!”

The other soldier bombards him with questions, pushing at his shoulder to try and egg him on. Jack just sits there and pouts; grimacing at nothing in particular while staring straight ahead. “It wasn’t a date, you ass-- He was here on business.”

Ana passes by them then, casually strolling past the two on her way to the kitchen. “The date is Saturday. He's going out to dinner with the guy.”

Jack groans and falls back, while Gabriel whips his head around.

“You mean Morrison’s going out wit’ a dude?! Maan, I didn’t know you swung that way! You shoulda told me-- I thought we were close, hombre! _Tú mentiroso_ …!” 

The guy in question reaches up and shoves the latino’s head away. “Oh, fuck off! It was completely on accident, and it’s not even because I want to take him out! It’s just another place to go and get things done!”

Ana, who was currently raiding the fridge, lifts her head up to shout; “You were the one who asked him on this date, habibi! Don’t lie to us, now.”

A loud, defeated cry, and Jack falls onto his side and grabs a pillow to groan into. 

“Besides, _I_ think it’s good that our wittle baby Morrison is experimenting with his love life! He needs to put himself out there more.” 

Gabriel snorts out a laugh. “Yeah-- God knows he doesn’t have any luck with girls.” From the kitchen, Ana breaks out into a guffaw. Morrison rolls off of the couch and stands, yelling out in frustration as he stalks out of the room and down the hallway.

“You guys suck! I’m going to my room-- Where I can actually live in peace!”

Another round of laughter, and one final noise of defeat as the blonde retreats to his room, slamming the door shut.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have art of Morgan somewhere. But, am I able to put it here? The answer might surprise you!
> 
> (no)


	3. Chapter 3

The restaurant was a dimly lit, hidden away place that Morgan had always been fond of. Though it was only six o’clock, the window was darkened so that it looked to be even later than that. Fall was rolling in more and more every day, and by now it had reached the point where the skies were showing hints of stars as early as 5. The lack of daylight attributed to the atmosphere of the place, and the writer revelled in the candle and lamplight that just barely lit up the room.

If only his date wasn’t late.

To be expected, he supposed. The whole arrangement had been a bit of a joke-- Morgan had jumped on what the man exclaimed in an attempt to tease, but when he’d followed up with the address and name of the small establishment he was in now, Jack had responded as though he was going to show up. Yet…

A huff of a sigh as he drops his head to his hand, his palm pushing up his cheek and making him look even more bored. A waiter comes by and refills his water. Morgan’s other hand comes up and quietly drums on the table, fingers falling rhythmically on white cloth. He’s about to give up hope…

The tinkle of a bell catches his attention, and there’s a small gust of cold air when the door opens. In steps in a large, exasperated-looking man, who takes off his coat at the door when prompted. A greeter approaches him, and there’s a small, unheard conversation between the two. Jack scans the room, and makes eye contact with Morgan when he spots him. On instinct, the smaller man turns his head so it sits straight, and tries not to look too excited. He closes his eyes and takes a breath, composing himself as he fixes his posture with a deep breath.

Eight seconds later, and there’s a deep rumble to his left when someone clears their throat above him.

Game time.

He cracks open an eye, and curls the corner of his mouth up in a grin. “Look who it is, hm? Good to see you again, Mr. Morrison.”

The soldier shoves his hands in his pockets, and tries not to make it obvious that his cheeks were heating up. “Er, yeah. This place was…,” he pauses, letting out a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding. “... Very difficult to find.”

A chortle from Morgan’s end, and he gestures to the opposite side of the table. “I apologize if I was unclear; it is a little tucked away. Come on, sit with me. You’ve already seen that I don’t bite.”

The blonde did so, and there’s a moment of quiet as Morgan sips at his water. The same waiter from before comes over and sits down a glass for Jack, and then places two menus to the side. Morgan sets his glass down.

“... You know, I almost thought you weren’t going to show. I was worried, for a minute.” 

Jack snorts. “Well, considering how this even went about, could you blame me? Do you usually get people to go to dinner with you like that?”

“Sorry, but typically I’m the one who’s approached. They just don’t show up after, and snap a photo when I leave. You’re the first to actually come in,” He winks, grinning despite what he just said. “I’m honored, Morrison.”

The Commander’s jaw drops, and he knits his brows together. “They stiff you on a date and then take a picture of you leaving alone? That’s….” He stops, unable to find a good enough word. “.... That’s awful, actually. Jesus.”

Morgan flaps his hand dismissively, rolling his eyes with a nostalgic hum. “I lived in Texas for twenty years, dear. I’m used to it.”

A few blinks, and Jack shakes his head in surprise. “Wait, you’re American?!”

The writer can’t help but laugh, nodding his head twice. “I am, actually! Born and raised in the deep south.” He leans forward, placing his elbows on the table and folding his hands together for a surface to put his chin on. “I lived in San Antonio.”

“Shit, I’m from Indiana! I lived on a farm my whole life! It’s good to see someone else from back home over here!”

Immediately, Morgan pulls back in mock offense. “You’re a _yankee?!_ And to think I’m going out with you! My own mortal enemy!” 

A splutter in protest, and Jack tries to defend himself. “I am not a yankee! That’s further up, where New York and Massachusetts are! Now _I’m_ offended.”

Morgan shoots him a deadpan look, the only expression being the tiniest of grins and arched eyebrows. “Let me reiterate-- I’m from Texas. If you’re north of Tennessee, you’re a yankee to me. You might as well be Canadian, Mr. Morrison.”

Unable to play the argument anymore, Jack laughs. “Alright, alright-- I get it. Still, it’s nice to see someone else from the states; out of curiosity, how the hell did you survive in Texas of all places? Doesn’t sound like they took to… Well, someone like you too kindly.” 

Still smiling, the brunette raises one brow in question, lowering his tone a little. “‘Someone like me’? Should I take offense to that?”

Panic flashes in the blonde’s eyes, and he brings up his hands in defense. “Wait, not what I mean! I just-- You just seem--”

Amused enough with the stuttering explanation, Morgan brings up a hand to stop him. “I’m joking with you-- I know what you mean. To answer your question; I didn’t do it quietly. But, I took wrestling as a kid, and my mother was a police officer. I know how to stay safe.”

Jack is surprised, to say the least. “You? Wrestling? You don’t seem the type. Aren’t you too short to be doing that kind of thing?”

A glare is shot across the table. “I’m five-five, thank you. That’s perfectly average-- you’re just a giant. And, believe it or not, I was the state champion-- I almost went to nationals, until I got the job offer that started my current career. That doesn’t change the fact that I was, quite literally, the strongest kid in my class. I may not look it, but I was benching three hundred-- I just never was the type to put on bulk. I’m still not-- though, my lifestyle also keeps me away from that much exercise. Bless a high metabolism, really.” He takes a gulp of his water. Jack is stunned.

Another waiter comes and takes their order, and that’s when the blonde realizes he has yet to open his menu. Morgan orders a salad(he knew he wanted it the moment he decided to come here). Not wanting to hold things up, Jack does the same, quietly planning to just box it and take it home. Angela would like it, probably-- He’d eat if he got hungry.

Their night goes on like that, with the both of them telling small stories about each other. There’s always a laugh or two, and neither one goes without smiling for very long. Soon, their food comes, and it’s placed in front of them with a subtle ‘enjoy’. Almost immediately, Morgan is stabbing forkfuls of lettuce and humming in content, savoring the taste. A minute passes, however, and the brunette notices Jack hasn’t touched his. After swallowing, he motions with his fork.

“Are you not going to eat that?”

The soldier shrugs, offering a soft smirk. “Salad isn’t my thing. I just didn’t want to make you wait while I figured what I want--”

He’s silenced when a fork comes to his lips, holding leaves of green and orange and purple all speared together, glistening with whatever sauce was over it. 

“I have done a public disservice if I let you leave here without appreciating this salad. Take a bite.”

The mouthful is pressed a little more to Jack’s lips, and he rolls his eyes before obliging and swallowing it, pulling back with his teeth.

A second of chewing, and Jack glares down at the fork before quickly grabbing his own and stabbing at his plate, shovelling it into his mouth. 

“It’s… Ish just leaves! How c’n it be sho _good_?!” He questions through bites, a little irritated at the fact that he was enjoying it. Typically, ‘rabbit food’ was crossed off of his list of things he puts in his mouth, but this was amazing! On the other side of the table, completely enamored with watching Jack’s conflicted enjoyment, Morgan sat with a sly grin on his face.

“... I’m glad you enjoy it, and I hate that I’m going to burst your bubble, but,” He takes a bite of his own, chewing on it thoughtfully. “... Society calls what you just did an indirect kiss, Mr. Morrison.”

Surprisingly, the man doesn’t choke on his food. He thinks it over, in his head while he chews, bobbing his head in agreement. “Mm… Yeah, I suppose they do. Is that a problem?”

The raised brow combined with the crafty smirk sends a shock through Morgan’s chest and heat to his face. This isn’t how he expected it to go. Yet, his eyes shine with delight, and his lips break into a smile at the response. “Well, only if you think it is. Granted, I prefer the more direct contact, but-- It’s a first date. That can wait a little while.” This makes Jack snort, but he remains in a good mood. 

They finish, and after another twenty minutes of talking then arguing over who would pay(Jack wins, with an explanation that he has too much money with too little to use it on), they leave the restaurant. 

Outside, on the pavement, they stand facing each other in quiet; neither one really sure how to say goodbye.

The larger man is the one to break the silence, shoving his hands into his coat and trying not to fidget. “Do you…. Er, need a lift home?”

“Nah, I’m good.” A grin from Morgan’s part. “I live, like, literally two hundred feet from here. There’d be no point.”

Jack nods in response, and scours his brain for something to say. He’s not sure he wants the night to end. “... Want to come back with me for something to drink? It’s late enough that it should be cleared out; ‘just be us.”

A moment of thought, and the writer smiles. 

“I’d love to.”

~*~

They pull into the lot of the building after a short drive, and Jack escorts his date into the housing area. As soon as he opens the door, there’s whispering from around the corner, and his peaceful expression turns to one of dread.

He gives himself five seconds to live, and then steps inside, holding open the door and stepping aside so Morgan could follow in behind him.

Ana is the first to come up, immediately pulling the blonde down for a hug. “Ah, _tafali!_ How did your first date go-- You brought him here, so I hope to hear good things! When you didn’t call, I assumed he left you there, and you were crying in your car!”

The brunette in question tries very, very hard not to snicker while Jack struggles to push Amari off.

“It went fine-- I just brought him back so we could have a drink--! Without you two harrassing us!”

The sniper pulls back and offers a devious, yet motherly smile, patting the soldier’s chin. “Of course, dear. We will not interrupt you!”

Reyes chooses to appear then.

He pops in from around the corner, leaning against the wall. 

“Damn, Jack. I thought you meant some other big guy-- _¡Pero el es como una mujer! Que guapa.”_

Morrison groans, rolling his eyes and trudging past the two of them. “Morgan, just-- follow me.”

Still giving his best effort in not busting out laughing, Morgan obliges, sauntering after his partner down the hallway Gabriel had just come out of. When he passes the latino, he stops and side-eyes him with a crooked grin.

“I do appreciate the compliment, but try to remember I’m not a woman, hm?”

Reyes freezes, and then whips his head around the corner when the writer passes on. 

“Fuc-- Morrison! Take this one back! I don’t want you with someone I can’t talk shit on!”

The blonde just throws up a middle finger, before turning into a room. The smaller man just laughs, disappearing when he follows suit while Ana rings out her last words as well.

“You better introduce us properly next time, Jack! Show some respect!”

~*~

In the lounge area, Jack goes into the kitchen after gesturing to a couch for his guest to sit in. Looking over the counter that peers into the sitting room, he waits for Morgan to get comfortable before rummaging around in the cabinets. Eventually, a bottle is found and popped open, and poured into a crystal glass. On his way out, he grabs a beer from the refrigerator for himself.

The glass of wine is handed gingerly to the writer, who eyes it curiously before accepting; sliding the handle between his middle and ring finger and cupping the bottom. 

“I figured you weren’t a cheap beer person,” Jack explains, moving to the opposite side of the U-couch and taking a seat. 

Morgan grunts. “You thought right,” he murmurs into the rim of the glass, sniffing the alcohol before tipping it back towards his lips. Morrison opens his beer with a twist of the top and raises it, throwing back a swig as well.

The small one is the first to break the silence afterwards. “... So,” he begins, waiting for the Commander to fill in.

“... So,” the blonde counters, biting his lip while nodding. “... You kind of met Ana and Reyes. They’re my friends,” A frown. “I think. Sometimes, I’m convinced that they’re out to kill me. Still kind of teetering on that right now.”

A laugh comes out from Morgan’s end, and he takes another sip of wine. “No, no! I thought they were funny. Reyes is charming-- To be honest, I didn’t think you three would be so close outside of headlines or battle,” he admits. “Color me surprised.”

Jack raises an eyebrow, amused at the statement. “Oh? How do you figure that?”

The writer shrugs. “Call it intuition, I suppose. I’m glad I was wrong.”

They make small-talk like that for the rest of the night, talking about pointless things and enjoying the other’s company. Morgan only nurses one more glass after his first, and Jack downs three beers total. Eventually, the brunette checks his phone and nearly jumps at the time, and scrambles to get up.

“Shit-- I can’t believe it’s late! I’m sorry, I have to leave--” 

Jack stands after him immediately, holding up his hands. “Hey, hey-- calm down. You can stay here; it’s too late to take you home, and we have plenty of free rooms. I can take you where you need to go in the morning.”

The offer noticeably calms him, but he’s still unsure. “I--... That’s nice of you, but I need a shower. Not to mention, I don’t have anything to wear, or--,”

“Our rooms have showers, and I’ll find you something. Just,” He puts his hands on the writer’s shoulders, leaning over a little so he’s staring the man in the eyes. “Do a soldier a favor and stay here? Please?”

Morgan, naturally, is awestruck. He doesn’t even know how he manages the ‘okay’.

Ten minutes later, he’s standing in front of a door, and Jack is handing him a large, folded white shirt. He gives it an interesting look, but doesn’t question it.

“It’s one of mine,” the blonde elaborates, backing up and pulling up his pants awkwardly. “It’s all I can find, but it’ll be enough to sleep in, right?”

The brunette hums, smiling.

“It’ll do, I suppose… If I like it enough, I might keep it. Who knows.”

Jack chortles at that, shaking his head. “Whatever you say, man. Do what you want.”

“I will!” He rolls his eyes, turning to leave. “… Well, Mr. Morr--”

“ _Jack_.”

Morgan pauses at the interruption. Jack grins. “Call me Jack. Please.”

The writer turns back with a curious expression, eyes glinting in the light from a window. “... Jack,” he tries, liking the way it flows past his lips. “... I had a fun time. I really did.”

“Uh-huh. So did I-- I’ll, um, see you in the morning?”

A nod is given in response, and he swivels back to the door. A pause for a moment of thought, and Morrison almost questions it… Then Morgan turns back around and swiftly stands on his toes to press his lips to a strong, chiselled jaw. “Goodnight, Jack.”

He’s gone before the blond can react, leaving the man alone in the hallway.

The soldier stands there by himself for a second, before cracking a smile and replying, 

“Yeah. Goodnight.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> gaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaayyyyyyyy


	4. Chapter 4

One very large reason that Morgan disliked staying at other people’s places was the fact that he could not stand waking up in a strange location.

It had prevented him from ever sleeping over at a friend’s house countless times as a kid, and as an adult it made moving even more of a chore than it already was. A new apartment meant a week of trying to not wake up pissed off-- it did wonders for his work, given the nature of it, but it was awful for his mental and social health.

The headquarters are no different, initially. He groans when he finally gives in to the fact that no, sleep will not be reobtained, and rolls over in the sheets to glance at the standard issue alarm clock on the nightstand.

The time read 4:35.

Fucker.

A grunt of disdain, and the columnist slowly sits up and stretches with a yawn. He reaches up and brushes hair out of his face, frowning when he feels a large clump jutting out from the side. Another minute is waited out in post-wakeup recollection, and Morgan is sliding off of the bed and onto the rough carpet. Now, to find some caffeine.

The brunette shuffles out of the room, and down the vaguely familiar hallway towards where he thought he remembered seeing a kitchen. It’s still dark, and there weren’t any lights on except for an opening ahead, and the dimness combined with the sleep in his eyes kept him from making out too much. 

He thanks every single god, deity, and power that may be that he can smell the enticing aroma of coffee grounds when he closes in.

There’s two women bustling around in the small kitchen when he comes in. One he recognizes as Ana Amari-- who he scarcely met the evening before-- but the other is a petite blonde woman who’s name is just on the tip of his tongue. He racks his brain for it, searching for the right name as he slides onto a stool at the bar looking into the kitchen. Andrea, Aggie… Alice? No…

“Oh! You stayed the night?”

The question interrupts his train of thought, and he perks up with a tired “Hm?”, blinking in the white light. 

Ana offers him a grin, intuitively reaching into a cupboard and pulling out a mug that is readily filled with black gold. The other mystery girl whisks eggs, not noticing her comrade talking to someone over the crackle of oil in a pan.

“Here-- You probably need this after last night, if that shirt is anything to go by.” She slides the mug to the exhausted author, who graciously accepts with a quiet ‘thank you’ before contemplating what she meant. What shirt…?

A glance down and a raise of his elbows reminds him he was wearing a cloth several sizes too large. While he wasn’t that much shorter than Jack, he was certainly much thinner-- anyone is. The man had a chest practically three feet across. Because of this, it slid over over one shoulder, revealing a smooth olive-toned collar and clavicle, and pooled around his thighs on his seat.

“Hm…? Oh-- No, no. Thank you, but please don't make an assumption. I’m just borrowing this for now. Honest-- nothing happened last night. The most action my room got was me rolling in my sleep.” He brings his mug up to his lips then, taking a grateful swallow of coffee.

Ana raises a brow, but doesn’t question further. “If you insist. A shame, if you ask me-- you’re a cute one, and Jack does not do much with anyone. Try and remedy that sometime soon.”

Morgan nearly chokes on his drink, slamming down the mug and pounding his free hand on his chest with a gag and a cough. “... I-I’ll, uh, keep that in mind.” The sniper just laughs, letting her head fall back with the sound. 

“Of course! Now, _qalbi_ , if you’d be so kind-- What is your name? My darling Morrison seemed to forget his manners, and didn’t introduce you last night.” She jams a thumb at her chest, grinning. “I am Ana Amari; a pleasure to meet you. And _this_ little thing--” The brunette reaches over and gently swats the younger girl’s shoulder with the back of her hand, getting her attention. “-- is Angela Ziegler.”

The guest of the room curses himself-- now he feels stupid. Who forgets Angela Ziegler, of all people? Apparently, him. “Hn-- good company to keep, for sure. My name is Morgan-- Morgan Crux. I’m the writer you know as _‘Alexia’_. It’s nice to be introduced, officially.”

Angela gives a little wave. “Of course! I’m not quite sure who you are, but Captain Amari likes you well enough! Are you hungry?” She turns once again to the stovetop, but keeps her head tilted in the direction of the man. “I made plenty-- here, I insist.”

Morgan feels strangely as though he’s being mothered-- yet, he’s over ten years older than her. Regardless, they smell too good to resist, so when she slides a plate of fluffy scrambled eggs across the counter, he takes it with a ‘thank you’ and digs in as soon as a fork is given. 

It’s quiet as Morgan eats, until heavy footsteps from behind them signals the arrival of someone else that morning. After shoving in another mouthful, the author turns in time to see Jack Morrison yawn in little more than the same white tee he had on now, and a pair of boxer briefs that fit a little too snug. When he stretches, his shirt comes up with him; exposing golden fuzz towards the edges of his bottoms, and abs that would make an Olympian jealous. Morgan whips his head back around, but only after thanking his guardian angels for the sight. Ana, ever observant, takes note of the whole thing; grinning to herself. For once, she’ll let it go.

The man of the hour takes a seat next to Morgan, and hums in appreciation when he’s given his own food. Ana gives him a solid minute of peace, before deciding to lay into him.

“So, care to explain why he is wearing your night clothing, _habibi_? You only just met four days ago-- far too soon to be in bed together.” She ‘tsks’, and Angela snickers quietly in her corner.

Jack doesn’t even react. He just rolls his eyes, and brings his hands up to rub his face in exhaustion.

“Amari, please-- It is…" He cuts himself off with a yawn. "... Far, far too early to start with this.”

Seizing the opportunity to be the worst kind of person, Morgan snorts in response. “If you're so tired, then, maybe, next time, don’t do so much with me. I kept telling you I wanted to just sleep, but you just pushed me on to do more...!¨

Ana lets out a loud, **“HA!”** , Mercy drops her spatula in surprise, and Jack shoots him a look that would kill anyone less astute.

Angela is the first to start. “Jack! I did not know you two were so close-- I thought he was your friend! _Liebchen_ , why didn’t you tell me you found someone to be intimate with?!” Ana continues to lose it, wheezing while holding the fridge handle for support. Morrison, now fully awake, throws his head back with a groan. Morgan just looks smug, sipping at what was left of his coffee.

“I didn’t-- We didn’t do anything together! I swear it-- Dammit, _stop laughing!_ ”

Between rough inhales, Amari manages to spit out a question. “Oho, yeah--?! _Snrk--_ Prove it--!”

The blonde man looks to Morgan for help, but the brunette just shrugs. He lets out a few noises of protest, trying to come up with something. “I-- We couldn’t of--...” A second of stammering, and he has it; crossing his arms and giving a for sure nod. “If we had sex, Morgan wouldn’t have been able to get out of bed yet-- and yet, here he is.”

The entire room goes silent.

Ana reacts first, bursting into a fit of strong, hearty guffaws that are tearing her apart. While she sinks to the ground, slowly dying from lack of air, Angela turns up her nose in distaste. “Jack Morrison! We don’t need to hear about what you’re like in the bedroom-- Keep it between you two.”

Amidst the chaos, Morgan is sniffling out laughter into his cup, and he reaches up to tuck hair behind his ear before offering a wry smile and a glance Jack’s way.

“I’ll take your word on what you just said, Jack. I’m not interesting in finding out what you’re like in bed… Well, not yet, at least,” Then, before the blonde can retort with anything; “Also, I’m keeping the shirt.”

Jack closes his mouth, deciding to keep quiet. He can’t help but smile, despite himself.

~*~

In the next week, Jack and Morgan keep in contact near-constantly. Morgan learns very quickly that the other man is not at all a texter-- one word responses and ‘seen: [blank] p.m’s are his specialty. Although, to his credit, at least once every few hours, he’ll check in with a quick _‘how are u?’_ or something similar. It’s sweet, in it’s own way; the writer likes to know someone is wondering about his well being.

He’s pretty sure his typically-seconds-within-receiving response habit has screwed him over, though, when a two and a half hour long meeting that took longer than expected causes him to return to his office with fifty texts after he hadn’t been able to respond to the initial checkup. After scolding the man for getting so worked up, he had laughed over it the next day when he came into work with a bouquet of roses on his desk. He makes sure to snap a picture and send it before finding something to set them in, then makes an executive decision to take the day off and visit his new friends.

The first person he sees is a young girl, dressed in a dark flannel button up and jeans. Her skin is a deep russet brown, much like someone else at Overwatch. The tattoo under her left eye is the same, as well, along with the glossy, dark hair that framed her face. Logic and reason tell Morgan this is most definitely someone related to Ana Amari.

She approaches him with her hands in her pockets, and an uninterested gaze scans his figure, sizing him up. 

“Who are you supposed to be?”

Yep. Definitely Amari.

“Oh, just a visitor. Is Jack in?”

The question is alarming, for whatever reason. The teenager takes her hands out of her pockets and narrows her eyes. “We don’t get ‘visitors’-- I’ll ask again; who are you?” She slowly rolls up her sleeves, approaching the writer menacingly.

Oh, no. 

Right before Morgan questions all of his morals by fighting a young girl, a loud yell rings out from further in the building. 

_**“Madha 'aqul lakum ean tarak alnnas wahadaha?!”** _

The egyptian teen jumps out of her skin, and she turns back her head to answer. “I’m sorry, mother--! This guy wants to see Morrison-- he doesn’t look official, either! What did you want me to do?!”

From further in, the unbridled rage of an arabic mother storms toward them. Morgan recognizes the voice immediately, and is understandably terrified. Ana Amari comes into view shortly afterwards, looking ready to deliver the unforgiving punishment of parenthood… Until she sees Morgan, and calms down considerably when she recognizes whoever her daughter had been harassing. 

“Oh, what a surprise! I never heard you were coming in from Jack.” She spreads her arms as she approaches(much to the man’s surprise), and pulls him in for a hug and a kiss to both cheeks. “I apologize for my daughter-- Let me introduce her properly. This is my darling Fareeha; she just turned sixteen three weeks ago, yet she already looks so grown up!” 

Fareeha flushes and glares at a wall, shrinking into herself and pulling away from the arm that is slung around her shoulders. “Mother, you’re embarrassing me…!” She sighs in frustration, and turns her attention to the brunette in front of her, offering a wave. “... Nice to meet you, I suppose. Sorry about before; when you’re raised as an army brat, you sort of keep a mindset.”

Morgan hums in response, smiling at the introduction and the apology. “Don’t worry about it-- I’m Morgan. A friend of your mother’s, and Jack’s.”

“I think you are a little more than a friend of Jack’s, _eazizi_.” The woman gives a knowing smirk, and lets her daughter free in favor of standing straight. “What brings you to us, Morgan?”

The columnist reaches into his bag and pulls out his phone, quickly pulling up the photo of the roses on his desk and showing it to Ana. She leans in to see it, and shakes her head with a chuckle. Fareeha takes a peek as well, but swiftly decides she doesn’t want to be involved with whatever kind of sap might ensue and absconds without a word.

“I figured I should come and say thank you; they’re very pretty, and I needed something to spruce up the office.” He shrugs, and tosses the phone back into his messenger bag, turning it so it was out of the way behind him.

Ana beams, and steps forward to loop her arm into the brunette’s, guiding him in. “I’ll walk you inside, _habibi_. I’m sure Jack will be delighted to see you.”

~*~

He reaches Jack’s office unattended, as his lovely escort had left him on the elevator and mentioned something about having work to do. A text is sent when he gets to the door, simply asking, _‘where are you?’_.

The response takes a little longer than he expects, and he frowns when his hand vibrates and delivers an inconvenience.

_‘In a meeting. Cnt talk. Gimme 10.’_

The brunette makes a small noise of disappointment to himself, and thinks over his choices for a second. It’s pointless to leave, but just waiting here outside of his office would be a little awkward…

An idea.

Replying with a simple _‘see you soon!’_ , Morgan pockets the device and lets himself into Jack’s office.

It looks the same as before, though slightly messier. The clean freak in him tells him to fix it all, and he has to settle with organizing a few stacks of papers and putting away stray utensils. When he feels as though he’s done enough, he takes a seat in the large, cushioned chair, and waits.

After about fifteen minutes of twiddling his thumbs and resisting sending another text, the door to the office swings open, and in comes Jack; muttering to himself and shaking his head. Morgan sits up as soon as he hears the latch, and beams when the soldier comes into view.

“About time you showed up! I was waiting for ages.”

The larger man perks up, searching for whoever was in his office. When he catches sight of his new partner, his face brightens instantly. “Wh-- Hey! I didn’t know you were here-- _shit_ , how long were you waiting? I’m so sorry, I didn’t know what you meant by that last tex--”

The writer shushes him as he stands, circling around the desk and approaching the taller man with an easy smile. “Don’t worry, Jack-- I got here about thirty minutes ago. I’ve been sitting for about ten of it.” He stops in front of the Commander, and leans back against the desk.

“That’s…” Jack exhales, calming down. “Good to know. What brings you here, anyways?”

Morgan shrugs, and shifts his weight. “I felt like seeing you, I suppose-- It had been a few days too many. Texting only does so much, you know?”

The blonde flushes, and tries not to look at the other man. “Er… Yeah. I know what you mean, I guess.”

Awkward silence between them once again, neither one ready to breach the gap. Then, Morgan decides to press boundaries, and lifts off of the desk to step forward and snake his arms up to Jack’s neck and pull him down for a hug, pressing his nose into the soldier’s collar. 

“... Is it too much to say I missed you, Morrison?”

Jack, a little surprised, lets out a bark of a laugh as he brings large, muscular arms up to return the embrace and hold Morgan closer. “Mm… Not at all. I, uh… I missed you too, Morgan.” 

Going a little further even, Jack tentatively tries to relax, and lowers his head so he can rest his chin on the top of the brunette’s hair, tucking him underneath his jaw. Morgan inhales, and tries his best not to melt into the touch.

They stay there like that for a second, the contact both the most and the best they’d had, before the smaller man pulls away. His arms trail down Jack’s sleeves to his hands, where he catches and holds them between the two of them. He beams up at his new affection, and gives a small squeeze that’s returned almost instantly. 

Jack breaks the silence first, running his thumbs over Morgan’s tinier ones and jerking his head towards the exit. 

“Wanna grab a bite to eat? I’m free for the rest of the evening.”

Morgan chuckles. 

“I’d like nothing else.”


	5. Chapter 5

Their relationship stays the same for about a month. 

Jack and Morgan never stop talking, always keeping in contact with the other somehow. They try to get together every few days, and the time is spent fruitfully; either out on the town, or staying in at their respective residences to drink and play games and watch movies. Morgan liked to be at the Overwatch HQ, and take part in the family that the group of heroes had built. Jack preferred the columnist’s flat, grateful for the quiet and the chance to be alone with his partner(though, admittedly, he liked waking up and going out to see Morgan in the common’s area-- they didn’t sleep in the same bed, yet. Neither wanted to cross that line).

Despite their aforementioned inseparability, the two of them hadn’t gotten close physically, at all. The closest they’d been in terms of bodily contact was relaxing on the couch, where Morgan had rested his head on Jack’s shoulder and the man had been tense the whole night. The only type of kiss that had happened was the one on the cheek that occurred the night of their first date. 

Surprisingly, Reyes had been the first to notice this. 

“How come you two ain’t ever touchin’ each other?” He asks, swatting his comrade in the shoulder when they are alone in the break room. Jack, who is just finishing up a message to the other person in question, makes a face and sends a confused glance in Gabriel’s direction.

“What do you mean? We’re... “ He trails off, wanting to say ‘touching all the time’, yet stopping because it was both dangerously susceptible to being turned against him, and also horribly untrue. “... Why even bring it up? What’sit to you?”

Gabriel shrugs, and turns to lean against the counter and shove his hands in his pockets. “‘Cuz you’re my bro, _amígo_. I worry about you even if you are a grown man. I’m just sayin’ that you two kinda hold each other at arms-length, y’know? If you danced it’d be like this,” he jokes, taking his hands out of his pockets and holding them straight out while swaying his upper-body from left to right.

Jack rolls his eyes, though he knows his friend was right. Best friends had that odd sort of power to know all of their counterpart’s problems; it was usually a good thing, though it also lead to Jack being called out on things he tried not to bring up.

“I--... I don’t know,” he tries, searching for an excuse. “I don’t want to do something he’s not comfortable with, I guess? I’d feel like a jerk if I pushed him too far.”

Gabe isn’t buying it. “Bullshit. You just can’t deal with the fact that he’s a man, can you?”

Bingo.

The blonde tenses up, and tries not to look at his friend. He knows, deep down, that Gabriel was right, yet it left a bitter taste in his mouth to even consider the fact.

“Look, I--... I won’t say you’re wrong, because you see through anything I say. But, I do want you to know that I really, really like Morgan; he’s sweet and funny and smart an--”

He’s interrupted by a firm hand clasping onto his shoulder. “Then _tell him_ this, _cabrón_! I don’t need to hear shit from you-- he does. ‘Needs more than to hear it; you gotta hold him close, you know what I mean? You gotta show the person you love that you mean it, _papí_.” Reyes makes a circle in front of his chest and threads his fingers together, sliding them back and forth for emphasis.

Jack just eyes him funny for a second, before giving a wry smile in response.

“Yeah, I suppose so.”

~*~

A few days later finds Morgan in his office across town, having just finished making calls. The receiver is placed neatly in it’s base, and he falls back into his chair with a small sigh of relaxation. That was the last of what he had to get done, and he is just about to lie back and rest his eyes when his phone rings once again. This time, it’s his cellphone, and the initial griping ceases when he sees the caller ID. 

“Jack?,” he begins, bringing the phone up to his ear. “This is certainly a pleasant surprise. You never call; is everything alri--?” 

“Go out with me tonight.”

Morgan pauses at the interruption, a little taken aback. 

“There’s a little place downtown that I’ve been to with Ana and them once or twice,” Jack continues on the other line. “It’s a jazz club, real nice. The music is always great-- I want you to come with me tonight. Please.”

The invitation is a lot to take in at once, and Morgan can’t help but laugh at the small hint of desperation in his partner’s voice. 

“Of course, dummy. Pick me up at my apartment at eight, okay?”

“Yeah. I’ll see you then.”

Click.

The brunette sets his phone down then, collapsing back into the recliner with a concerned expression; brows knitted together as he tries to figure out what had Jack sounding so… Urgent. 

He shakes his head of the matter, telling himself not to worry about it. Now, to decide what to wear…

 

~*~

Morgan is just finishing up getting ready when a series of knocks plays from his door. His outfit for the evening was a standard white, long-sleeved shirt and pants, with shiny, dark brown boots. The knitted sweater he had picked out had actually belonged to Jack(having been stolen on a particularly chilly date night), and draped over his smaller frame like a shawl. One last look in the mirror, a quick brush of his hair behind his ear, and he rushes through his apartment to get to his door. 

When he opens it, he’s greeted with a large array of flowers.

A smile instantly takes over Morgan’s face, and he accepts the bouquet graciously; holding it up to his nose and inhaling the aroma. 

“Jack Morrison, you’ll spoil me rotten, you know that?,” he teases, eyeing the man in front of him.

The soldier looked pretty tidy, as well-- A lavender dress shirt, a matching tie and a silver vest, bottomed with black slacks and shiny, black leather shoes. Morgan takes in the sight for a second, appreciating the view before setting the flowers down on a table and stepping outside.

“You look good this evening,” Jack begins, sliding his hands into his pockets. “I don’t know that I want the sweater back, if I know you’re going to look so much better in it.”

Morgan is delighted. “You’re not so bad, yourself-- I might get jealous with all the heads you’ll turn.”

A charming half-grin is given in response, and the two of them stand there, not knowing what to say or do. It feels like their greeting should have more to it than that; a kiss on the cheek, a peck to the lips, perhaps. Yet, neither moves forward… Until Morrison extends his hand and asks, “You ready?”

A smile in return, and Morgan slips his fingers into the other man’s larger ones. “Yeah. Let’s go.”

~*~

Jack is uneasy the entire night. 

Something is bugging him on the drive there, he seems scattered at the table when they arrive, and it’s making Morgan nervous. That doesn’t stop him, however, from attempting to have a fun night. He finds out that Jack is actually quite the dancer, and when he’s spun around the floor to a swing beat, he throws his head back and laughs like he hasn’t in a long time. Then, when the music slows, he’s brought in close, and Morrison holds him to his chest like he’s the only thing in the world that matters; murmuring adorations and sweet talk into his ear. The notes get a little more dramatic, and large, calloused hands sneak down to Morgan’s hips and guide him across the floor, carrying him to the rhythm.

The previous tension starts back up again as soon as they’re in the car, and it builds up to a climax when they’re standing in the vestibule of Morgan’s apartment.

“I want to talk to you,” is how it begins, and all the brunette can do is swallow and nod. 

“Listen, Morgan…” Jack starts, reaching up and scratching behind his head. “This past month has been… Really, really great. I don’t think I’ve ever been happier with someone, honestly, but--”

Wanting to just end it before he feels pathetic, Morgan holds up a hand to stop him, shaking his head and pulling his lips into a straight thin line. 

“Don’t--” He pauses, trying to find his voice and calm down lump in his throat. “-- say anything else. Please; I get it. I really do.”

A look of confusion flashes on Jack’s face, but he brushes it off and pushes on. “No, I don’t think you do. I’m trying to-”

“Jack,” he forces, biting his lip. “I understand. You’re not happy-- I didn’t think you would be. Just…. Please, just go. I don’t want you to break up with me in my own apartment.”

The Commander looks extremely hurt after the last part, and Morgan instantly regrets saying anything. 

“Why the hell would I be breaking up with you?! I’m trying to apologize to you.”

Well, that’s certainly a curveball. “I don’t know--! You’ve been acting weird today, and you never seem to be comfortable near me, and I just…!”

He nearly screams when Jack laughs, a rich sound that simultaneously makes him angry due to the prospect of being trivialized, and makes his heart lurch at the tone and the man it comes from.

“That’s exactly what I’m trying to get to! I won’t lie to you; I had a few problems with this-- with _us_ \-- but I’ve put them behind me. I felt so awful about it to begin with, and it made it worse that I had no idea how to even bring it up to you.”

Morgan is stunned, and on instinct he shrinks into himself, turning his head to the side to try and avoid eye contact. The tactic fails, however, when his head is cupped by a large palm, and he’s forced to look at the tall, handsome blonde pouring his heart out.

“I thought long and hard about it after talking through it, and I’ve realized how stupid and pointless it was. All of the worries and inhibitions were worthless, and didn’t matter,” Jack continues, his other hand coming up to pull on Morgan’s waist. “The only thing that matters to me here is you; nothing else.”

It’s quiet for a second after that, with the writer having been shocked at the surprisingly tender(and admittedly cheesy) words. The confession has completely blown him away-- One look into Jack’s eyes, and he’s helpless, down for the count and drowning in their warm gaze. All he can do is listen to the gentle push from behind, and stand a little taller to meet Jack, who had been slowly leaning down, in the middle, and press their lips together for a kiss that both of them had needed for a while.

It’s slow, at first; both of them are beating around the bush with the matter; until Jack makes up his mind with a mumbled, _‘fuck it’_ , and he moves both hands down to his boyfriend’s hips and lifts him up, turning and pressing the smaller man to the wall before diving in. 

Morgan lets out a startled yelp, but melts at the surge of passion Jack puts into the lip lock. It’s all he can do to keep himself composed at this point, throwing his arms behind Jack’s head and letting him take the lead. It heats up quicker from there, with the Commander practically devouring Morgan’s lips as he pushes their mouths together.

They pull apart for just a fraction of a second, but it’s long enough for the brunette to whisper out a command of _“Bed,”_ to which Morrison nods his head vigorously as he shifts his arms lower for support and delves back into Morgan’s mouth, lifting him off of the wall and carrying him to the bedroom.

They topple down onto the bed, and both of them instantly get to work on the other’s clothing. Morgan is first-- his sweater is pulled over his head and tossed to the side, and Jack makes short work of his shirt. The larger man completely covers the writer’s body with his own, resuming the heated makeout session as both sets of hands get started on undoing buttons. A groan tears from Morgan’s throat when his bare chest comes into contact with Jack’s and it turns into a gasp when muscular hips grind into his. It’s a perfect opportunity for Jack to shove his tongue into his open mouth and claim him for his own, continuing on with pressing an outline of Morgan’s body into his mattress. 

Not long after, they’re both completely undressed, and Jack hovers over his lover with a hungry look in his eyes, completely aroused.

“You know,” Morgan says between pants, sitting up on his elbows and drinking in the sight that is the naked super soldier Commander Morrison, “I always thought those muscles were compensating for something.” He lets out an exhale through his nose, stretching forward and gripping the large erection Jack sported and giving it a few pumps. “... I’m glad I was wrong.”

Jack snarls at the joke, grabbing both of Morgan’s wrists and pinning them above his head. A sharp thrust of his hips rubs both of their arousals together, and the keen from the man underneath him sends an electric pulse of desire through his body that goes straight to his groin. Wanting to hear it again, he moves once more, before building up a satisfying pace and snaking his hips against Morgan’s.

The both of them have gone too long without any kind of sexual contact and are too pent up from a month’s worth of nervous touches to last very long, and it ends with a loud, bellowing moan that tears from Jack’s throat as he fucks down into his partner one last time before finishing, and collapsing onto the writer’s own spent body.

They lie like that for a few minutes, collecting themselves and rejoicing in the warm afterglow of the moment. Once his breath is caught, Morgan gives a light push to Jack’s shoulder, who lets out a sleepy grunt in response.

“... If you fall asleep on me with what we just did all over my body, I will never touch you again.”

There’s a slow laugh, and a groan from effort, and Jack rolls off of him. Morgan sits up, stretches, and makes his way to the bathroom.

A few minutes later, and he’s tossing a piping hot, soaked rag from the doorway at Jack, who catches it and sits up.

The both of them clean up what’s left of the mess, toss the towels into a corner, and Morgan climbs up onto the bed to settle down under the blankets and back up into Jack’s open arms.

In the morning, after half an hour of the both of them lying silent and content, Jack squeezes his arms around his boyfriend’s waist and leans forward to press a kiss to his exposed neck.

“Y’know,” he murmurs, inhaling the sweet scent of the brunette. “... I think I’m in love with you.”

Morgan lets out a sleepy laugh and rolls over, pressing his lips to Jack’s without opening his eyes. “Good to know, because I think I’m in love with you, too.”

Jack grins, growling and rolling over with a rumbling, _“C’mere, you!”_ and attacking Morgan with affection. He, in turn, yelps and giggles at the display, and suddenly he’s helpless at the behest of the man on top of him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> h a m i l t o n


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> special thanks to Sapphixxx on here (who is also sapphixxx.tumblr.com on the interwebs) for giving input and insight and just being great all around during my writing process. Love you, Mama Mercy!

They’re much more liberal about PDA from then on.

Everyone takes notice of it as soon as the two of them come back, though no one comments on the fact that neither Jack or Morgan show their face for three days after their date. The only one to really acknowledge it is Ana, who eyes them both with a knowing grin when they come into HQ. She approaches both of them, punches Jack in the shoulder, and hugs Morgan around the neck before sauntering off. 

When it’s time for the writer to return to his actual job, the kiss goodbye shared gets a few sniggers, which are stamped out by Gabriel and countered by the gentle, delighted smile Angela gives them both. The couple have a moment in the doorway, their foreheads pressed together as the both of them murmur farewells. The soldier leans down and delivers a final peck on the lips, and then Morgan takes his leave.

Naturally, though, happiness can’t last forever. For them, the blissful period comes to an end when Jack’s duty as a soldier sends him out to be deployed, a continent away in the Middle East.

Morgan is, understandably, against it.

“Please, please don’t go?” He begs, looking up at the man from his spot on the couch. It is a question he’s asked countless times in the past week; at breakfast, in the car, other idle moments on the couch, you name it. Whenever he does, Jack always rolls his eyes and presses a kiss to his hair or squeezes his hand in reassurance. They’re in Morgan’s apartment when he brings it up this time, relaxing while watching some program on TV.

“Even if I had a choice, I’d go-- I can’t just leave my men there, you know this,” he responds, every single time. It always stirs up an unpleasant feeling in Morgan’s gut to hear those words-- a twisted part of him wants to ask if they’re more important than he is, but he knows that it’s an unfair, selfish question, and he beats it down every time.

Still, this particular instance, he presses on, shifting on the couch so that he’s straddling his boyfriend and pressing up against Jack’s chest, trailing delicate hands up strong, defined arms and settling them on either side of the man’s head. 

“Do you really want to leave me so bad?” He teases, unable to suppress the sly grin stretching across his mouth as he presses a kiss to Jack’s upper lip. The soldier rolls his eyes, but goes along with it. On instinct, he brings his hands up to grip slim hips, squeezing the outer edges of the protruding bone.

“Definitely,” he retorts, letting out a satisfied exhale at the ministrations. “I need to get out before you’re too much for me-- Gotta escape somehow.”

Morgan laughs, moving his lips down so he’s actually kissing the blonde full-on, running his thumbs across high cheekbones affectionately. “Mm, you’re going to have to try a little harder-- I don’t plan on letting you go so easy.”

Jack absent-mindedly toys with the button on the front of Morgan’s jeans, his forefinger slipping underneath the hem of his pants and undergarments. “Good to know-- you’re going to have to hold on, here in a second.”

A buck of the smaller man’s hips is all the confirmation Jack needs, and he lifts the brunette up with a snarl before turning and throwing his lover underneath him onto the couch. Morgan lets out a high-pitched giggle as he falls, hiking up his legs and throwing them behind Jack’s torso.

When they’re satisfied and cleaned up afterwards, with stray articles of clothing scattered around the room, they’re lying on the couch in opposite positions; Jack on his back underneath, arms curled protectively around Morgan, who is nestled pleasantly on the man’s broad chest while coming down from his sex-high. A white, knitted throw blanket had been pulled over them, and covered their tangled-up legs and bare forms from the coming-winter chill. 

Morgan looks up from his thoughts, gazing up with hazy green eyes at a chiselled jaw without saying anything. A moment passes, and Jack looks back down at him, arching a brow in question. “... ‘S there something on my face?” 

The columnists hums a chuckle, rubbing his hand across Jack’s chest. “No, nothing… I just like to look at you.”

Jack gives a rumbling, _“Heh”_ , and runs his fingers up and down the small of Morgan’s back. “You have no idea how much I look at you-- I could stare at you all day.”

“Mm, good to know,” Morgan mumbles, letting his eyes slip shut. “... You’ll call, won’t you?”

The blonde lets his head fall back, staring at the ceiling. “Yep, everyday. I’ll need your voice to help get through whatever we gotta do.”

A nod is given in response, and it’s quiet once more until Morgan breaks it once again, murmuring a warm, “I love you.”

Jack beams up at nothing in particular, tightening his arm in a squeeze and pressing a kiss to Morgan’s forehead.

“Yeah, I love you, too.”

~*~

Jack and Reyes were both heading the front, leaving Ana in command at the HQ. The day they leave is a tad emotional; tears aren’t shed, though both Jack and Morgan extend their last moments together for as long as they can.

A week later is when the two of them are wrapped in an embrace outside of the dropship, and having been so for about twenty minutes. Most of it is spent in silence, with Morgan tucked safely in Jack’s arms while enjoying the last bit of close contact the two of them would have for about a month. Occasionally, one of them mumbles a quiet, “I love you”, to which the other responds likewise. Finally, the dreaded hour of reckoning comes, and Jack can’t stay any longer. 

He holds Morgan at arms-length, staring him in the eyes with a ferocity only shown in bed or in battle, before leaning forward and pressing a warm, needy kiss to the brunette’s lips. They hold it there, Morgan’s eyes fluttering closed halfway through while he tries to keep up with the passionate movements of Jack’s mouth on his own. All too soon, it’s over, leaving Morgan dizzy and disoriented while he tries to register the confident grin his boyfriend is giving to him as he turns and heads towards the dropship, throwing his arm into the air with a proud fist pump.

Morgan only manages a little wave, swallowing the grief rising in his throat as he watches the man go up the ramp. An arm thrown around his shoulder startles him, and he looks to see Ana Amari next to him, the same grin on her lips, as well. She raises her free arm to mirror Jack’s, and then the ramp is closing, engines roaring as the ship rises into the air, the jets whipping long ebony tresses up into the air. A small turn of the aircraft, and then it takes off, fading into the horizon.

Needing some form of comfort, Morgan leans into Ana’s hold, his eyes planted firmly on the pavement in front of his feet.

“Let’s get you inside, _habibi_ ,” she coos, urging him to follow her back into the base.

~*~

Undeniably, the first night is the worst.

Ever since Jack put aside his nagging doubts and took a step forward into their relationship, the couple had spent every night in the same bed. Morgan had joyously figured out then that, no matter where he was, he woke up content the moment he registered bulky arms wrapped around his torso. Though it had only been a little more than a month since then, it quickly became a routine for the writer, and he wasn’t doing well without it. He wakes up frequently in the middle of the night, and has to go and pace his apartment while searching for something to keep him occupied. Eventually, Morgan settles onto the couch and curls up into a ball, and tries to get as much shuteye as he can.

After two more nights, he doesn’t even attempt to sleep in his own home as soon as problems start up. A small bag is packed, and he drives himself across the city just to get to the Overwatch HQ. Anyone who was up at the ungodly hour of his arrival can tell he’s exhausted with a single glance as he makes his way through the building, making his way to his missing boyfriend’s quarters. 

As soon as he’s in the room, he collapses on the bed in a heap. The comforter is drawn up tight around him, and he breathes in the warm, familiar scent of Jack Morrison. It’s a minimal comfort.

Not three minutes later, the door flies open, and Ana Amari storms into the room; her hair up in a neat ponytail, with a few stripes of a mint-green cream on her cheeks and the bridge of her nose.

A quick glance around the room shows that it’s undisturbed, and she mutters to herself in confusion before she catches sight of the bed, and the unmoving pile of blankets bunched in the center. With a knowing grin, she quietly enters into the room and makes her way to the side of the bed, easing herself onto the mattress and pulling back the covers to reveal a disheveled, sleep-deprived brunette who was staring up at her with the most pitiful expression she had ever seen.

She stifles a laugh, and rests her hand on the man’s head. “Aw, what is the matter with you? Why bring yourself all this way?”

Morgan tightens his grip on the pillow in his arms, and hides his face further in the crevices. “... ‘Can’t sleep without ‘im.”

With all of the tenderness of motherhood, Ana lets out a sound of compassion, and runs her hand along his head in smooth strokes. “I know, dear. I know. He’ll be back before you know it-- you will see.”

“What if he doesn’t come back?” Morgan shoots, his breath hitching with worry at the thought alone. “... I don’t want him to get hurt.”

Ana’s voice gets firm, but is still caring. “Do not say such things. You know the man as well as any of us do, by now. You know Jack is going to be just fine, and you’re just letting little things get to you.”

She continues to pet his head, and it seems to have the desired effect when the columnist nods once, taking a deep breath. “... I miss him.”

“And he misses you, too,” Ana responds. “You cannot reach him yet on the phone that you carry, but I spoke with him today, and he asked about you as soon as he had the chance. I told him I had not seen you-- and you know what he asked me? If I was taking care of you, as though you were not a fully-grown adult. _Pah!”_

Morgan can’t help but chuckle, letting his eyes slip closed. “Tell him I said I’m doing okay the next time he asks, alright?”

Ana shushes him, humming. “You can talk to him, tomorrow. It will do him wonders to see your face.”

That’s how the night progresses, with Ana reassuring Morgan of his boyfriend’s safety. The columnist slowly drifts off to the feeling of Ana caressing his head in a continuous rhythm, while he finds comfort in the vague scent of Jack in the sheets, letting his mind calm down as he’s taken over with a familiar sense of home.

~*~

In the morning, he’s alone once again, though there’s a mug on the nightstand that wasn’t there before, set carefully on a scrap of paper with curvy writing. Morgan sits up in bed finally, after trying to wake up for a minute, and marvels when he picks up the mug and finds that it’s still warm. Even more to his surprise, his mouth is filled with a rich, creamy chocolate when he sips it instead of the bitter coffee he expected. A small groan of appreciation at the taste, and he takes the note off of the bedside table, squinting in the morning light to read.

_‘Morgan_

_I hope you enjoy the hot chocolate! My mother made it for me when I was a girl. Come see me in the medical wing, when you’re awake._

_Angela’_

“Awh,” he whines, clutching the note to his chest with a touched smile. The doctor was too good for him-- for all of them. He’ll have to do something for her in return, one of these days.

After taking thirty minutes or so to enjoy the warm drink, he slips on a pair of gym shorts and rummages around the room for one of Jack’s sweaters. It takes a while(he comes to the realization that he may have, probably, possibly taken all of them already), but eventually Morgan finds one in the back of his closet. It’s thrown up and over his head, and he pulls back the droopy sleeves and fixes the hem before heading out.

Angela is waiting for him at her desk when he comes in, typing away on her laptop. The screen is closed when she looks up at the sound of the door opening, however, and Morgan is greeted with a warm smile.

The woman stands from her seat and circles around her desk, coming up to the man to wrap her arms around him in a hug. “Good to see you, _schatzi_! Did you enjoy my gift this morning?”

Morgan smiles, returning the embrace with a warm hug around the torso. “It was delicious, Doctor. ‘Best I’ve ever had.”

The look on the young girl’s face shows she’s absolutely thrilled at the compliment, and Morgan can’t help but flush. It’s rare to see someone so bright-- _‘She probably has that effect on a lot of people’,_ he muses. 

“I’m so glad!” She chirps, pulling back and clasping her hands together with an adorable expression of joy. “Nobody is ever around in the mornings-- I hardly ever get the chance to make it! I feared that I was losing my touch with the recipe.”

A shake of his head is given in response. “Nope. It was perfect-- I needed it, this morning. You don’t happen to have anymore left over, do you? I’d love to take some with me to work--”

Angela gives him a cynical, amused expression; an eyebrow raised as soon as he mentions work, and suddenly she is no longer sweet, caring friend Angela Ziegler, but the kindhearted, concerned, yet firm Doctor Mercy, giving an order for her patient’s benefit.

“I don’t think so-- I took the liberty of checking your vitals when you were asleep, and you haven’t gotten enough rest to get to your office to begin with, much less do any kind of physical or mental labor,” she states, turning and grabbing her coat off of a hook before making her way further into the med bay. “Please, follow me inside-- I want to do a real examination in the lab.”

Morgan does so without question, shoving his hands into the pockets of his oversized hoodie and waddling after her.

“So, how long ago did the sleepless nights start?”, she begins, taking a clipboard and a pen from a stack on the wall as they walk and turning to a fresh sheet.

“Uh-- About three nights ago, when Jack left, I suppose,” He frees one hand to scratch his head, keeping his head focused straight on the path in front of him while he walks. “I haven’t been able to sleep for more than like, an hour until last ni--”

“You’re lying to me,” she interrupts, throwing a glare in his direction while she scribbles notes. “This has been going on longer-- you don’t have blood-alcohol content like yours unless you’re an alcoholic or physically exhausted, and I know the Commander too well to know that he wouldn’t be with someone if they had an issue like that-- which means you haven’t been getting any rest! Now, I’m going to ask again; how long?”

Morgan stiffens noticeably, and takes a second before answering. “... About a month ago.”

Angela thinks a minute. “... I see. Why have you had a problem in the past month? Didn’t you and the Commander start to spend more time together then?”

Oh, fuck. This is a little bit embarrassing. “Y-... Yeah. I’ve just been having, uh… Busy nights, I suppose.”

He doesn’t get a response for a second, and for an instant he thinks it’s over… But his worries are quelled a bit when the doctor opens a door and steps into an exam room, gesturing for him to come inside. “I can see that-- what have you been doing?”

“Exercise!”, he blurts, immediately cursing himself for shouting the first thing that comes to mind. Morgan slinks past the younger woman, and takes a seat on the table. 

Angela eyes him curiously, taking a seat on a revolving stool. She clearly hasn't put the puzzle together yet. “Please, strip down your sweater and your pants. Now, what kind of exercise? Why so late in the evening, and so often it’s interrupting your sleeping patterns?”

Morgan doesn’t answer, instead frozen with his hands at the bottom of his top. Another second of hesitation, then he lifts up the clothing to reveal olive-toned skin. Angela gasps as soon as she sees what else covers his skin; a literal fuck-ton of faded bruises and marks, concentrated heavier around the collar and neck, then getting a little more intense as they scatter towards the line of his pants.

“... Please don’t make me take everything off. They just get worse further down,” he mutters, not able to look at the woman who was supposed to be examining him.

She leans forward and tenderly trails her fingertips across a few that were closer together on his stomach, and he shudders at the touch. “... Are these from…?”

“Jack,” he interjects, face getting more and more heated.

“.. Oh,” says Angela, thinking about it and putting the pieces together. “... Oh. _Oh, Morgan!_ Please, tell me it isn’t forced--?!¨

His eyes shoot open in surprise, and he holds his arms out and waves his hands in defense. “No, no!! Never! It’s all… All consensual,” he finishes, taking a breath.

Angela crosses her arms, still concerned. “Why on earth are there so many?! How often do you…?”

Morgan nods with his answer, his face so red that he was a little light headed from the blood rushing to his cheeks. “Every night,” he begins. “It’s… Every night, basically. Occasionally, he stops by the office, and--”

“Is _this_ why you haven’t been getting sleep?! You’ve been having _too much sex?! Liebchen_ , explain yourself!”

“I don’t know!”, Morgan protests, tone growing whiny and desperate. “Just-- after the first time, way back when, he just… Started! As soon as we’re in bed now, he starts kissing me and then he-- He touches me and next thing I know we’re--”

“You didn’t say no?!”

Silence. Morgan just sits there and looks guilty. “... Angela, he’s really, _really_ hot-- Ack! Ow! What the hell--?!”

He is cut off by an abrupt smack in the arm with a clipboard, and he brings the other one up to shield himself from the doctor’s wrath.

 _“This is **putting your health in danger!**_ Because _you_ , Morgan Crux, cannot say no to your boyfriend! I cannot believe I even have to say this! I swear, when Jack gets back, I am going to have a _talk_ with him!”

“No, please!” The brunette whines, grabbing the arm holding her weapon of choice, and holding it close to his chest while he begs. “I-- I’ll talk to him! Just… Please stop hitting me, and promise you’ll let me do it.”

Angela groans, and pulls the man into a hug. “... Fine,” she relents, bringing her empty hand up to pat the back of his head. “... You both are going to be the death of me.”

Morgan chuckles nervously, leaning into the embrace. “... I’m sorry. If it helps, the sex is always great. At least we’re satisfied.”

He gets hit on the head with the clipboard one last time, for good measure.

~*~

After the ordeal with Angela, Morgan is called by Ana to go to the top floor. Unsure of what was awaiting him after what he just went through, he’s delighted when he’s called into a room and sees a screen containing a head of bright, spiked-up hair and a strong face.

“Jack!”

Morgan rushes up to the front row of computers, and looks up at the giant video of the man on the wall with a grin wider than anything he’s had on his face the past three days.

Jack looks up from whatever he’d been observing with a look of surprise, which quickly turns into an excited smile. “Morgan! Babe, it’s so good to hear your voice.” His eyes narrow, and he glares down at what the writer assumes to be his own screen, as though he was searching for something. “Where are you? I can’t…-”

Ana pipes up from behind, coming up to the computer Morgan was perched at. She leans over to presses a few buttons, and the hologram disappears from above before coming up again on the screen in front of them. She wraps her arm around Morgan’s shoulder and squeezes him once, before retreating back with an amused smirk.

“There you are-- God, it’s great to see you. How are you doing up there?”

Morgan sits down then, letting out a dreamy sigh and resting his head on his propped-up arm. “I’m… Okay, I guess. Been lonely, but other than that, I’m alive.”

“I get the feeling-- sleep is hard to get without you here, you know? I’m so used to having you with me.” He lets out a weary laugh, and smiles at the camera in way that makes Morgan’s heart melt.

The mention of sleep, however, reminds him of his meetup with Ziegler earlier that morning, and he lets out a nervous laugh at the thought. “S-so, uh, I had a talk with Angela this morning. She gave me an exam because I haven’t been sleeping a lot in the past month.”

Jack frowns, immediately concerned. “I wasn’t aware of this-- what’s the issue?”

Morgan sucks in air, and holds his breath for a second. “... We’ve been having too much sex.”

From behind him, Ana(who he forgot was there) bursts into laughter, doubling over and letting out loud guffaws. On screen, Jack automatically gets embarrassed, red creeping across fair cheeks. “What th-- You were always okay with it!”

“I know I was!”, he shoots back, crossing his arms. “It’s also just… Ridiculously hard to say no to you. If you didn’t know, I think you’re kind of hot, Jack.”

Jack can’t help but chuckle at the comment, shaking his head. “Still! Are you sure it’s the sex? I always feel great in the morning.”

Morgan glares. “You’re not a normal person, Jack. Some of us get tired after that much work all night.”

“You’re not a normal person, either!”, he protests, crossing his arms and shifting his weight with a smirk.

“What do you mean by that, hm?” Morgan questions. He’s a tad offended at the remark, not knowing where it came from.

The grin the blonde gives is contagious, however, and he’s returning it before he even gets the explanation. “You’re too beautiful to be a normal person.”

Morgan pauses, unable to come up with a response to the complement. Eventually, he settles for offering an easy smile, and a warm, “I love you.” Jack beams, replying quickly with an affectionate, “I love you, too.”

The call ends after they talk for a little while longer, and Morgan leaves the room feeling lighter than when he came in.

~*~

Two weeks into Jack’s absence, and Morgan has settled into the mundane aspects of single life once more. There wasn’t any more sleepless nights, and he wasn’t moping about through the day. Instead, the lack of the man in his life was felt as though something was missing; a small piece of him that wasn’t where it should be. It was marvelous how much a part of his life Jack had become, in the two and a half months they had been dating. Happy moments aren’t happy like they should be; not having Jack to share them with, or to go home to and tell him about was an odd, unwelcome feeling. Dinner is quiet, when he’s not at the HQ, with no one at the other side of the table or on the opposite end of the couch. His bed is cold and empty, with the only thing to hold on to being the pillow that was losing that familiar musky scent he squeezed to his chest every night.

Now that he had reached the area he’d been sent to, Jack called him twice a day if he could. Once, in the morning-- usually they’d have some type of breakfast together, until the soldier had to get out into the field-- and another later on in the evening, where they’d lie in bed and stare at their cameras and whisper adorations to the other. It’s something, but it still isn’t the same as him being there; with Morgan resting against his broad chest, listening to his slow, deep breaths and falling asleep to the steady thrum of his heart.

All his life, he’d been alone, and only now did he really understand what it felt like to be lonely. 

He asks Ana about it in the third week, when they’re sitting down at a table after showering for evening tea. Ana is ruffling a towel through her hair, and braiding long, thick wavy locks with the fabric before setting it neat on her head. Morgan sips at his mug of tea in thought, before blurting out, “Do you miss Fareeha’s father, ever?”

The look Ana gives him makes him feel stupid for asking. A clear-cut ‘no’, but she elaborates anyways. “No, not at all. He was not the man I thought he was when we were together, and anyone who does not care for my _tafali_ Fareeha is someone I do not want in my life.”

She sighs, however, as though she was reminiscing on something sad, and Morgan sees a side of her that hadn’t been revealed to him before. “... I did love him, at the time. He was a man who I thought to be great, and worthy of my affections. However, as soon as I revealed that I was going to be a mother, and him a father, he left. He quit the military, and fled the city we were stationed in. I have not heard from him since.”

Another moment of silence, and she smiles despite the mellow tone she had before. “But! It does not matter, now. My sweet Fareeha is all I need! Even if she is older and rebellious, and strays away from any kind of leadership, she is still my little girl-- I suppose you all are a nice addition to my family, as well. Truthfully, I put up with too much drama from you and Jack alone to have a man of my own.” The familiar twinkle in her eye is back, and she snickers at the harmless tease. Morgan laughs along with her, though he sees her in a bit of a different light thanks to the story she had shared; she radiates the calm, steadfast love that comes with motherhood, and he feels a little bit better about being alone with her there.

Neither one of them speak for a small amount of time, both taking careful sips from their steaming cups. Ana breaks the silence, humming into a mouthful of bitter tea before speaking; “I know you miss him, but he will be back soon-- within the week, most likely.”

Morgan glances over, eyebrows raised in surprise at the revelation. “Really…? That’s good to know! I’ll have to do something for him when he gets back.”

Ana, of course, cannot resist a quip. “Do not do too much, now-- We don’t need you to visit Angela again, do we?”

“Shush-- That’s my business,” he grumbles in return, sporting a small smile despite the response and the obvious blush seeping onto his face. Morgan takes another drink, and follows up with a slight change of topic and tone of voice. 

“Thank you,” he begins, trailing off for a second while he thinks of what to say. “... For putting up with me, this past month, and for being there when I needed you. I’ve never,” he pauses, sucking in a breath. “... I’ve never, er, loved someone, like I do him. It’s a very… _Not-nice_ feeling, being without him now that I’m so used to having him in my life.” A small chuckle at his choice of words, and Ana snorts at the gratitude. 

“I suppose he does grow on you, doesn’t he? Just like him, the brat.” Her words are harsh, but there’s a big grin on her face that shows she means none of them. “Please, do not thank me-- you are here, with him, making him happy. You are as apart of this family as Angela or Gabriel is; I just hope that you stay, and that you are with us for a long time. All of us will have to go out and fight for what is right, and it’s nice to have someone waiting at home for us.”

Morgan is touched, though Ana continues. “Not to mention-- you are as precise with your tongue as I am with my scope. To know we have you to paint our scene and appearance to the public is a great asset.”

This time, it’s Morgan’s turn to snort, and he tries not to feel too full of himself. “Please-- I just do my job. Though, thank you for bringing that up.” He stands, finishing his drink and leaving the table to put it in the sink.

“I’m heading to bed,” He says as he passes the table, circling around to where the other brunette was to press a kiss to her temple before making his way out of the room. “I think I know what I’m going to write next. Goodnight, Ana!” He calls, turning down the hallway and going back to the Commander’s quarters. 

That night, he wraps himself in a large jacket of Jack’s that had always been a favorite of his-- an odd, leather one, with blue and white coloring and a bold, large ‘76’ on the back. He sets up his computer in front of him on the mattress, and starts typing; writing everything that comes to his mind. On the screen, forming slowly from the words that flowed from his fingertips, is another article-- a juxtapose to the one from the beginning; a testament to Jack Morrison’s name, and the warmth that flooded his chest at the sound of it.


	7. Chapter 7

Morgan doesn’t say a word about what he’s publishing to Jack. Not once. The man calls him, of course, and he discloses everything else about his day and night(including the story Ana shared-- there’s a little bit of guilt over it, but you tell your significant other everything, right? Except surprises). The paper it’s planned to show in goes out the day the soldier returns, and Morgan has secured a copy to keep at home for him, just in case

But, that day is four days away, and the brunette is going absolutely nuts in anticipation. He’s antsy-- his foot is never still, he drums his desk with a pencil, and sitting down for too long makes him itchy. Morgan complains about it often, and he's whining about it again at the table two mornings before Jack's scheduled arrival. Ana, who frankly has had enough, gives him dirty looks while he lets out pained noises.

“Will you shut it, already?! You’re as bad as he is! The both of you, I swear…” She huffs, crossing her arms and leaning against the wall to sulk. He’d been like this for the last day and a half, ever since she gave away the date Jack was getting back. Morgan just groans. “I can’t help it! I don’t want to  _ wait _ …!”

He quiets himself, however, finishing off with a frustrated huff and sitting up in his chair. A moment of thought, and he brightens up while turning to Ana. “Hey-- did I show you what I did for Jack?”

Ana raises a brow, shaking her head.

Without another word, Morgan darts from the table and shoots out of the room, returning shortly after with a newspaper in his hand. He thrusts it into Ana’s face, and she scolds him before shaking it open and scanning for where his column usually is.

“I see it! Now, what do you…” She grumbles to herself as her eyes scan across the text. Instantly, she recognizes what it is, and her demeanor brightens considerably. Ana straightens up, a pleased smile on her face, and reads it aloud.

“ _ Today marks my three month milestone with Jack Morrison. Not only is it the longest relationship I have ever had, it is also the happiest. _

_ Jack Morrison, the Commander of Overwatch, was the subject of my critique five days before our first date. I wrote about how he was headstrong, foolish, and naive. I did not trust his leadership, or his character, and I chastised him for not revealing himself to the general public, and getting to know the people he claims to be protecting. _

_ I take back every single word that I said. _

_ Never in my life have I met someone more trustworthy, more careful, and more kind than he is. He stops in the street for civilians neither of us have ever met. He goes out of his way to assist anyone who might have an issue-- neighbors, friends, strangers. I have seen him spend hours in his office, stressing over plans and strategies to keep his men safe and alive. The past month, despite my rather selfish asking him not to, he has been with his team, doing the same work they do, with the same hours, in the same conditions. He grits his teeth and bears through the hardship. _

_ Despite the immeasurable workload and responsibility his job taxes on his life, he is, indubitably, a better boyfriend and an even greater man than he is a leader. His work hours are long and arduous, yet he still makes time for those who matter to him. He never speaks of his position, and refers to himself as a part of the whole, instead of being a separate, higher power outside of the rest. In his personal life, there is never a dull moment, a complement spared, or opportunity missed with him. _

_ I have never, ever been more glad to be wrong about a person. I cannot stress how much this man means to me; how much he means to the world. He is someone history will have its eye on, as he leads us to a brighter, hopeful future. _

_ For Jack, _

_ Alexia.” _

She’s quiet after finishing, staring at the paper with a tender smile. Her eyes dart up to Morgan, who was beaming from across the table, and she can’t help but laugh. 

“I like it-- it will certainly through people for a loop after your last refrain,” Ana chortles, folding the article and handing it back to him. “Do you want to give it to him when you see him, or is something else in place?”

Morgan shrugs. “I think I might wait for the evening; I’m making something for just the two of us, you know? I’ll leave it at the table, and let him look at it.”

The sniper can’t help but snicker at the idea, shaking her head. “You both are gross, sappy romantics-- I cannot understand how you enjoy something so…” She trails off, searching for the right word.

“Cheesy?”, Morgan offers.

“I’m thinking more along the lines of ‘embarrassing’.”

Like a child, Morgan juts his tongue out and turns his body away. “Hush-- I’m allowed to be all of those things when I haven’t seen him for so long. It is perfectly justified, if not necessary.”

A roll of her eyes is all he gets in response, and she stands before sauntering away from the table. “I’ve got to head out,  _ qalbi. _ I’ll see you later.”

Morgan gives a little wave, and collects his things before heading out to his own office, an extra spring in his step.

~*~

The rest of his day is the same as every other, and he’s on the phone with Jack later that evening. 

Morgan is busying himself around the apartment, wiping down counters and scrubbing tabletops. His hair is kept back with a bandana(a neat black one Angela had given him with the Overwatch logo on the front), something that Jack rather enjoys seeing. The blonde notices him moving around, but he’s so concentrated that he isn’t really speaking.

“Hello? Hell-ooooo~?”, he tries again, looking around the edges of the camera as though it would give him a better view of their home. Morgan hums a reply, and Jack can’t help but laugh. “I’m tryin’ to talk to you, beautiful. What are you doing that has you so focused?”

The brunette straightens up, and wipes sweat from his brow. “Sorry-- I wanted to clean up for when you get back, you know?” He glances at the camera, and offers a sheepish grin. “Which means I look like shit for a little while, because I don’t want to shower until everything is set.”

Jack shifts in his bunk, letting out a gruff,  _ “Heh,” _ at the comment. “Don’t say that about yourself-- I think you’re cute.”

The complement strikes Morgan as odd, and when he thinks about it, he quickly figures out why; the brunette lets out a snort, which quickly dissolves into a fit of giggles strong enough to make him double over on the table for support. “Th-- The first time you ever call me ‘cute’, and it’s when my hair is back, I’m absolutely filthy, and I’m wearing work clothes? Jack--  _ snrk--  _ y-you really are something else, y’know that?”

“Well, it’s true!” the soldier beams, letting out a bout of laughter in return. “I think you always look beautiful,  _ cutie. _ I just think that when you look so busy, you just…” He shakes his head, knitting his brows together in thought. “... You look like someone I would marry.”

Morgan calms down, and gives his boyfriend a curious look. In reality, he’s touched, though it’s a bit sudden. “Oh, really now? I’m someone you’d go down on one knee for?”

Jack bobs his head, chuckling. “Mmm-hm, I’d give a speech and everything. ‘Do it in front of a crowd.”

They both stare at each other after that, content with the silence. Jack tilts his head at the camera, gazing at his screen with the same dreamy grin he always has. “.... I love you, Morgan.”

“Mm, I love you, too-- but I need to get going. There’s still a few things I gotta  do, and it’s late over here.”

The look Jack gives him is of a funny sort; it actually throws Morgan off a bit at first glance. Whatever the case, it's chased away with nod and that signature grin Jack always has, and he gives a little wave. “Alright, then-- I’ll see you soon, babe. Stay safe!”

Morgan gives a little wave of his own, and blows a kiss at the camera before the connection ends.

~*~

Jack was practically shaking with anticipation at the prospect of getting home. Two days prior, he had been out in the field, and was so distracted at the thought that one or two of his men had actually come up to him and asked if he was okay; he’d actually blushed at the question before reassuring them he was fine and barking out an order.

A lot of worries went through his head, as well; it felt like something was different, and it made him anxious. What would he do when he came back? Would they just… Pick up where they left off? A month out of the total three they'd been dating was a large chunk of time-- it wasn't the healthiest thing to be apart for so long. What if being separated had pushed them away from each other, or ruined some of the foundation of what they had? What if Morgan had met someone else in that time, who was charming and cute and able to _be_ there with him?  He stayed up at night with these thoughts.

On the day he heads back, these thoughts are all that zoom around in his head. He almost isn’t even excited-- there’s a feeling of dread in the pool of his stomach that he can’t push away, and it doesn’t help much when he arrives to not see Morgan’s face anywhere on the runway. Granted, Ana isn’t there either, so he tries his best to just ignore it.

He heads to his office first, trudging through the door and around his desk to slump into his chair with a defeated sigh. Jack is about to turn on his computer and get work done, when a knock on his wall interrupts from his thoughts.

Ana is leaning against the door frame with a satisfied smirk, arms crossed over her chest. “Good to see you again, Jack-- how did it go?”

Jack shrugs, leaning back in his chair. “As good as it can, I guess-- a few casualties, but no lives lost.” He nods when he’s finished, face stonier than usual.

Ana can guess why.

“Why are you here, then?! You have somewhere to be, Jack-- Go on. You’ve worked hard, you’ve earned the right to go to a home with someone who loves you; I’ll take over here.”

The Commander cracks a smile at the offer, and he stands with a sigh. “... If you say so. I just… I thought he would _be_ _here_ , Ana. I got off, looked around, and he’s not eve--”

Ana shoots him a look that would silence the Devil with its ferocity. “... Are you questioning what I think you are? Do you really not think he missed you as much as you missed him? Jack, how can you not feel foolish?! I’m disappointed in you,” she criticizes, shaking her head in shame. 

Jack shrinks in his jacket as much as he can, staring at the ground in shame. “What am I supposed to think? I’ve been away for four weeks, Ana-- who knows how he feels?” 

The woman can’t help but feel sorry for Jack. He sounded like an absolute idiot, yet she just wanted to console him. She tries a more gentle approach, easing her tone. “... I do not think Morgan lost sleep just because he wished to, Jack. You not being here affected him more than anything-- you are one of the few people in his life who have truly gone and made him happy, and he is lost without you. Go to him-- See how excited he will be to see your face. See how he looks at you when you walk through the door. Tell me what you are saying now afterwards, if it is what you feel.”

There isn’t a response at first, but eventually, Jack nods, and leaves the office without another word. Ana stays in the doorway, trying to keep calm and assure herself that it will be okay. 

Later, after the most reckless drive of his life, Jack stands outside of the door to his boyfriend’s apartment. Something smells… Really good from the other side. A deep breath, and he opens the door, slipping inside.

He walks through the vestibule, and turns a corner to get into the kitchen; inside, faced away from him, is Morgan, working over the counter with a knife. It’s covered in flower and, from what Jack can see, so is he. There’s a bowl of something white and sticky-looking with a spatula sticking out of it, and a pan full of crumbs on the other side. On the stovetop, to the left, was a frying pan. Oil was in it, crackling around the edges of a light brown, crispy-looking lump.  _ ‘Chicken?’ _ , he wonders. Whatever it is, it smelled fucking fantastic.

The foul mood from before is gone, erased from the warm feeling in his heart at the sight of the smaller man working away. With a sly grin, he lowers himself, easing up so he was right behind Morgan, before shooting up and scooping the writer with his arms. The knife clatters onto the counter, and the noise given in response is the cutest and funniest thing he’s ever heard

“What the fu--?! Oh! Oh my god!  _ Jack!” _ As soon as he’s set down, he turns and launches himself up into the blonde’s arms, wrapping his own around Jack’s neck. Morgan’s hands reach around to the back of Jack’s head, pulling him down for a needy, tight embrace. Jack laughs, lifting him off the ground and spinning around the room. 

“You’re  _ here! _ I’ve been waiting all day and you’re finally back and I-- I just--” 

Jack shushes him, pulling back so he can get a good look at the man’s face. Morgan shines, looking at him with eyes so full of adoration Jack could just…

A pop from the stove startles them both, and Morgan hops down before rushing over and turning over what was in the pan. “Oh, shit-- Jack, go sit! This will be done in just a sec’, I promise.” Jack hums in response, coming up and snaking his arms around his lover’s waist. He leans down and presses a kiss to Morgan’s ear, smiling against the tuft of hair tucked behind it. “I don’t want to-- Can I just stay here and watch?”

A roll of his eyes, and Morgan swats Jack’s hands. “I’m moving around, and I’m all messy! Plus, there’s not much to watch,” he pauses as he turns over meat in the pan, and oil sizzles and pops. “It’ll be done in a minute.”

Jack lets out a whine, but doesn’t protest further; he kisses Morgan on the cheek one more time, before leaving the kitchen.

True to his word,  Morgan is out almost as soon as he sits down, carrying two plates. Each has a large chunk of meat set in the middle, with red sauce drizzled over the top. Carefully, the writer sets the larger portion down in front of the returning soldier, and puts his in front of the chair to Jack’s right. He presses a kiss to the man’s cheek, excusing himself to go and clean up. 

For the first time since he’s come in, Jack looks around him-- at the clean house, the neatly set table, the food carefully prepared and cooked just for him, for when he got back, because he was so clearly  _ missed _ \-- and he feels  _ bad _ . His stomach twists in a knot, and when he hears Morgan’s footsteps on his way back to the table, he pushes back in his chair and goes straight for him, lifting the man into the air once again and crushing his lips against the brunette’s. He hears a surprised yelp in response, though it quickly dissolves into a hum of satisfaction. Between needy, heated kisses, Morgan manages to let out a meaningless complaint, “Jack-- There’s food, you know--”

Jack cuts him off, leaning in and pressing his lips to any inch of skin he could get to. “‘Don’t care,” he rumbles, biting at the flesh of Morgan’s neck. “... Right now, I’m going to kiss the man I love, who I haven’t seen in a month. Nothing is going to stop me. Got it?”

Morgan can only shudder in response, curling his legs around Jack’s waist and whining his name with every fluid motion of his hips. The sound is music to Jack’s ears, and the shame that had balled up in his stomach vanishes more and more with every time he hears the man he has pinned to the wall cry out.

~*~

After they fuck, they eat.

Jack is impressed, definitely. It’s chicken, as he had guessed, but on the inside is gooey, delicious cheese that seeps out from the center when he slices into it. Always a food fanatic, he devours it in a matter of seconds, and it tastes so much  _ better _ when he looks over and sees Morgan beaming at him, delighted with the fact that he enjoys it.

Between mouthfuls, he manages to ask, “Where th’ hell ‘djyou learn t’cook?”, and doing so nearly makes him choke. Morgan laughs, and hands him a glass of water with a dazzling smile. “... It’s my dad’s recipe. He made it all the time when I was little.” 

Jack raises his brows, and looks back to his food as he shovels in another bite. This time, he waits to actually swallow before continuing. “It’s… Really fucking good, babe. Why don’t you cook more often?”

Morgan gives him a look filled to the brim with sarcasm, and snorts. “Because it’s a pain in the ass to do,  _ dear _ . But…” He trails off, pondering what he’s about to say. “... If you really do like it, I can try and make something a few days a week. Because I love you that much.” The smile he gives is genuine, and Jack can only give a sheepish laugh in return, reaching over and taking his lover’s hand in his own and giving it a squeeze. 

“Whatever you want to do, Morgan.”

~*~

Later on, after dishes are done, they curl up and watch a movie together. Neither one says much during, instead enjoying the comfortable silence and the physical contact they went without for too long. The night seems like it’s going to end on a quiet note, until they reach the bedroom, and suddenly Jack is being pushed down onto the mattress and a very feisty, very  _ aroused _ Morgan is on top of him, tangling his fingers in his hair and kissing him with as much ferocity and desire as he could possibly muster.

Jack, for one, is very amused to see him taking charge. 

Then, a conversation from much earlier in the month rings in his mind, and he puts his hands on the brunette’s shoulders and pushes him up with a chuckle. “Heh.. What happened to ‘too much sex’, huh? I thought we were supposed to be taking a breather.”

Morgan  _ growls _ , the noise coming from deep in his chest as he sits back, hovering over Jack’s groin and reaching to feel underneath his shirt. “You said earlier,” he manages between puffs of breath. “That you were going to kiss me, because you hadn’t seen me in a month, and nothing could stop you, right?”

Jack smirks, but gives a slow nod in response. “I did,” he teases, reaching back and groping the thick curves of his lover’s ass. “But Mercy saaii-”

“I don’t give a  _ damn _ what Angela said,” Morgan grunts, interrupting the sing-songy tone Jack was giving him. He pushes back into the strong hands squeezing at his thighs, groaning. “I am going to ride my boyfriend until there is sunlight coming through that fucking window, because that quickie against the wall is worthless compared to the month I went without your dick, Jack Morrison.”

The soldier would laugh at the words, if he wasn’t cut short by another kiss. Wanting nothing more than to oblige to Morgan’s demand, he wastes no time in pushing down his pants, getting the clothes off of the writer, and then flipping them over so he can pound him through the mattress, through the floor, through any surface he can pin Morgan to while still effectively pushing into him with hard thrusts that have both of them noisy as hell.

It ends just as requested, with light streaming through the slits of the blinds as morning slowly arrives. Completely spent, Morgan collapses onto the bed with a weak sigh, unable to hold his head up for a minute longer. Even Jack, who boasted the superior stamina and superhuman vigor, felt drained. He had no  _ idea _ how the other man had made it through all of that-- by their seventh round, it seemed like neither of them even had much to give.

He only lies there for a minute, however, before he rolls off of the bed, the gentleman in him refusing to make Morgan get up again. His own body is cleaned up at the sink, and he soaks a clean one for the man still in bed, trudging back into the room and taking a seat on the side Morgan was lying on.

“C’mere,” he grunts, carefully reaching underneath and wrapping an arm around both shoulders to hoist the brunette up. Morgan whimpers, trying his damndest to glare at Jack through half-lidded, exhausted eyes. He doesn’t respond, instead just mopping at sticky skin and wiping at a few other ruined areas. When he touches spots that are tender, whether because they’d been ruthlessly pulled and pushed into the whole night, or because he’d sunk his teeth into the skin there, Morgan will hiss in irritation, and Jack just presses his lips to his forehead over and over again, murmuring something sweet every time.

Before Jack can settle down, however, his significant other, shoots up from where he was lying, letting out a small gasp of pain when discomfort shoots up his spine. He shakes it off, and keeps on.

“Fff-uck-- Jack, did you read the paper yesterday?"

The blonde eyes him sleepily from the other side of the bed, where he had just sat down. “... No, I never thought to. Why?”

Morgan huffs. “Go get it-- it’s important.”

“N… No.”

“Jack,  _ please _ . I want you to read it.”

“Can’t I just read it later--?”

“ _ No! _ It’ll mean more if you read it  _ now--” _

“I really don’t see why I can’t ju--”

“ _ Jaaaaack!” _

Jack throws his head back, letting out a defeated groan. “Alright, alright…! All go and get it.”

He comes back a few minutes later, paper in hand. A small wave of it is sent in Morgan’s direction, and he rolls over onto the bed with a heavy ‘oof!’, bobbing on the springs before settling back against a nest of pillows. On instinct, Morgan curls up into his side, putting his head on his left pectoral.

“Go to my column-- read it out loud, okay?”

Jack looks at him from the corner of his eye curiously, but doesn’t question it; beginning with a slight smile.

“ _ Today marks my three month milestone…” _

He reads it in a funny, husky storytelling voice, adding inflection in place where it shouldn’t be to make Morgan laugh. As he gets further and further in, a warmth in his chest blossoms and grows, spreading throughout his whole body and making him a little bit giddy as he reads the writing. It’s uninterrupted(save for a few giggles from the author of the piece, of course), until Morgan interrupts him after shuddering in his arms.

“Wait-- say that again.”

Jack hums. “Say what?”

“The word,” Morgan insists. “The word you just said.”

He narrows his eyes, and scans the text for a second. “... Oh, that word.” He clears his throat. “... _ Indubitably.” _

Morgan shivers again, chuckling. “I like the way you say that-- ‘makes my frame shake.”

Jack snorts out a laugh. “I’m surprised you can still shake at all, baby.”

He’s rewarded with a small shove to the shoulder, which only makes him laugh again. The rest of the piece is read in silence, and when he’s done, the paper is set on the nightstand, and he gives Morgan a little shake before pressing his lips to his head. “You know, I forgot that’s how we met-- you insulting me and slandering my name.”

Morgan whines, hiding his head in the man’s collar. “I told you this-- I didn’t mean it! I’ve never had a problem with you, ever.” He’s quiet for a second, and he shifts head to send a sheepish look up at the soldier. Jack’s heart nearly melts. “... I loved you the minute I met you. I mean it.”

Jack snickers, turning so he can face Morgan and give him the same smug, smouldering gaze he reserves for when he really wants to see him squirm. “I can’t say the same, sweetheart. I had to take aspirin when you left my office.”

“You’re such an asshole!” Morgan headbutts Jack’s sternum pathetically, earning him a small grunt and another laugh. He hates it, because the noise is practically music to his ears. “How are you so unromantic?”

Jack rumbles out another chortle, and presses his forehead to the writer’s own with a grin practically splitting his face. “Sorry, ‘s not really my strong suit. I managed to get you, though; didn’t I?”

Morgan grumbles, leaning in further and tucking himself into Jack’s broad frame. “You could at least  _ try…” _

The Commander slides his arms around Morgan’s torso, tightening his hold to keep him close. “You can teach me, hm? We’ll learn how to make each other happy-- together.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's a play reference in here. If you can tell me the name of the play(it isn't Hamilton this time), I'll write a one shot of your choice, save for a few pairings I refuse to make content for.
> 
> Hint-- it's a line Morgan says, and the line is in the opening scene of the play. Good luck!


	8. Chapter 8

Their love for each other only grows throughout the next year. 

Morgan is a large part of life in Overwatch. His first big thing to actually be a part of is the holidays, which work a little differently due to the diversity of the soldiers and workforce. It had evolved, after many mishaps and much confusion, to just a general month-long celebration, where more ‘winter’ themed decorations are put up. Both Morgan and Jack were both raised religious (though Jack rarely ever prays nowadays, and Morgan lost faith as a teenager and never really gained it back), so Christmas is their go-to for celebration. Ana is the one to tell the newcomer that they all devised a system of giving gifts on the new year to avoid grievances, and Morgan adjusts quickly. The presents shared at the party make the food that much tastier, the alcohol that much sweeter, and the sex that much greater in the end, and it’s a much nicer alternative to the quiet seasons he spent by himself for years. 

Of course, him and Jack get each other a joke present for the party (a tie and cufflinks, for him, and a Victoria’s Secret gift card for the Commander. Ana got a real laugh out of that). Their real gifts are exchanged at home, in private-- Morgan practically screams when he opens a card to reveal front-row tickets to a talk show he’s a fan of,, even if he’s called a nerd for it, and Jack is speechless when he’s hand-lead to the parking garage to see a motorcycle, topped off with a white bow and a pair of red-backed riding gloves. They take it for a spin almost immediately, speeding through the empty city and tearing down the highway until some ungodly hour in the morning.

Valentine’s Day turns into a  _ nightmare _ . Morgan nearly dies in a store when the rush of people almost trample him, and Jack, bless him, is stuck in a meeting for a full seven hours, and doesn’t get out until nine o’clock that night. In the end, after a migraine-inducing day, Jack is just satisfied to sit on the bed with Morgan in their underwear and watch movies while he eats chocolate out of the cheesy, large box he got when he got home, and Morgan flushes and tucks the frilly, black-lace lingerie away in a drawer, which he for-sure plans on wearing at a later date.

Summer rolls around, and the group decides to take a vacation. Naturally, they choose the beach, and a string of condos along the shore are rented out to the group. Fareeha and Gabriel learn how terrifying Morgan can be when they all go into the water, with the writer out-swimming the both of them in a race. Gabriel begs to know the secret to his success, and Jack politely answers for his boyfriend, letting out a smooth, “Legs for  _ days _ .” Later, Fareeha climbs onto Jack’s shoulders, with Angela doing the same to Reyes, and they have a chicken fight in the water. Morgan sits back on the beach with Ana(who didn’t care much for the water), and talks about parenthood and the future, watching how Jack acts around the teenagers, and wondering if he’d be the same for their own little one, maybe. 

New faces show up in the office, one of which being a stout young man named Jesse McCree. He’s a bit of a celebrity already, from how he’s brought in by Gabriel to begin with(a gang-bust that ended with him being recruited is definitely a story worth telling), and Morgan finds him funny, initially. He immediately makes it on Jack’s shit-list, however, when the soldier walks in on him leaning over the couch and openly flirting with his boyfriend(who was both amused and exasperated from the comments at the same time). McCree is, quite literally, picked up by the back of his neck, and kicked out of the lounge. The display of jealousy and pure physical strength is exciting to see, and the sex they have that night is  _ fantastic _ .

The second recruit comes up shortly after; the young Lena Oxton. She’s fresh out of secondary school, enlisted in the Slipstream program to train to take on, potentially, one of Overwatch’s most dangerous experiments. Morgan is absolutely  _ enthralled _ , taking to the girl like a mother hen does to a stray chick. Jack comes home later that evening to the two of them on the couch, laughing over something Tracer had just said. The instant Lena sees the blonde come into the living room, she freezes, throwing a hand across her mouth as she gasps. 

“You’re shagging the _Commander?!_ ” she blurts out, looking to Morgan, then back to Jack. For whatever reason(maybe the word choice), Morgan goes beet red, and Jack just stands there and looks smug.

“We’re dating,” he explains, fidgeting around. “It’ll be a year in September.” 

The blonde in the room narrows his eyes to thin slits, shooting a glare at the aspiring pilot. “Is that a problem, agent?” 

Tracer, feeling suddenly on the spot, blushes a little herself, and lets out a nervous giggle. “Uh, I wouln’ think so, considerin’ I’m gay as all bloody fuckin’ Hell.”

Nobody speaks for a solid ten seconds, and then Morgan sends a pitiful, begging look over to Jack. 

“Can we please, please keep her?”

~*~ 

Their year together is fruitful, and brings them remarkably close together. Jack is deployed one or two more times, and Morgan knows how to deal with it more efficiently. Overwatch continues to grow with the people, with the group of heroes being idolized and treated as celebrities. Morgan, for the first time since high school, feels like he’s at home; like he’s with a family, and his love for Jack grows without limit. Jack, in turn, becomes more and more infatuated with the smaller man every day, waking up each morning and thanking God that he was lucky enough to realize how special Morgan was before it was too late.

Naturally, problems have to come about.

As Overwatch grew in popularity, so did those who wanted to see it fall. Purists and anarchists see the legacy it’s leaving and the purpose it’s fighting for and grow angry, becoming more and more outspoken until eventually, they organize together to form a group meant to bring them down and restore what they believe to be order to the world. This is how the terrorist organization of Talon comes to light.

They play hard, and they play dirty.

It happens on a night Jack is caught up at the office. This had been a fairly common occurrence recently, with the outbreak in activity that had sprung up. Oddly enough, Morgan liked going to bed without Jack there-- it was even more satisfying to hear him come in through the door and feel the blankets lift up as he slid into bed and wrapped himself around the writer, as he did every night. Tonight, however, it goes a little differently. 

Morgan gets home a little late, having been running errands before returning to his apartment. There’s a window open in the living room, which he finds odd initially, though it’s disregarded as a careless mistake with a shrug as he puts away groceries. After everything is squared away, he heads to his room to change out of his work clothes, and slip into something to lounge around in.

It happens faster than his future memory will be able to process. 

A hand clamps around his mouth, far too rough for it to be any kind of foreplay(not to mention nowhere near as large as Jack’s hands), and Morgan switches to instinct. Years of training, no matter how long ago they were ingrained, erupt forth as he jerks his head back on instinct, slamming the back of his skull into what he guessed to be the assailant's nose. It loosens the hold just enough for him to break free, and he dives across the bed to the other side. Morgan speeds towards the edge once he’s up, his hand flying under the mattress and grabbing the handle of a pistol. The intruder, recovered from the blow, brandishes his own gun with a snarl. The columnist registers blood seeping from under his mask as it darkens the fabric and drips down his mouth, and he doesn’t hesitate to go further. 

A fourth of a second passes, and both men raise their guns.

A third of a second, and they’re aimed and at the ready.

Half a second, and two large shots ring out. Morgan feels a searing, god-awful pain in his stomach, so massive and overwhelming that he can’t even pinpoint where it’s coming from. His vision focuses just in time to see the guy slide down the wall, crumpling over, a mark of blood splattered over the cool grey paint from where the bullet left the back of his head. It takes him a second to process what just happened, as he looks down at himself and sees his shirt slowly turn into a deep, thick red. 

Morgan realizes two things. 

One, he was bleeding. A lot. And he is feeling lightheaded.

Two, he has just killed a man.

With trembling, slowly-weakening hands, Morgan reaches for his phone, and manages to hit Jack’s name on the screen. It rings a few times, and he hears a hushed, slightly irritated voice hiss out from the speaker; “What do you need, babe? You know where I am,”

With a wet, painful cough and a wheeze, he manages to splutter out, “... S-send help,” before dropping his phone and coughing once more, bringing his hand to the wound and holding pressure as blood seeps from his clothes onto the floor.

~*~

No one had ever seen Jack so frayed as he was after that phone call.

He had stormed out of the conference room, and practically flew out of the HQ on his way to the scene. Mercy was, somehow, called during all of this, and he doesn’t spare a second to shout the address and bark out an order to get there with a medic team and an ambulance.

The door is slammed open, and he immediately searches the premises for Morgan; panicking when he doesn’t see him. Jack shouts, calling out the other man’s name in desperation as he thunders through the apartment. Finally, he gets to the bedroom, and is shocked at the scene.

The dead body is certainly surprised, though disregarded when he flicks on the light and sees it’s not who he’s looking for.  _ That _ person is on the other side of the bed, leaning against the wall with his head back, face pained and pale. There’s a small pool of blood around his left thigh, and his hands are matted with it where they’re pressed above his left hip. 

The blood currently in Jack’s veins turns to ice when he sees the grisly sight, and he rushes over as soon as his eyes fall on the small form, and his hands go to the wound and add more pressure onto the bleeding.

“Morgan--! Morgan, c’mon, answer me-- open your eyes, beautiful, c’mon--” His free hand goes to cup Morgan’s face, giving it a few careful slaps to try and get his attention. Dark, green eyes crack open, and they send a pitiful glare over Jack’s way as the writer lets out a shaky breath.

“I’m… up,” he croaks, gritting his teeth at the harsh pain that shoots up his side when he inhales. “F-- _ uck _ , this hurts… J-Jack, it  _ hurts _ ,” he whines again, clutching at the fabric pressing into the gunshot. Jack winces, but nods his head, responding with a hushed “Shh, I know, I know,” pressing their foreheads together as he squeezes his eyes shut and tries to keep it together. 

“Stay alive, Morgan-- Keep your eyes on me, okay--? Just-- Don’t stop looking at me, babe-- Keep-- Oh, fuck,” He swears, and tries to think of a way to keep the man occupied and speaking,  _ breathing _ , keep his heart going, keep him awake, please god.

“Wh-- What day is it, huh? Do you remember?” he tries, turning the man’s head so they were looking into each other’s eyes. 

Morgan struggles to think, continuing to grit his teeth. “... Uh… It’s-- August twenty… Twenty-first, y-yeah-- Oh!” He gasps, which leads to another cough and subsequently a groan as the pain flares up again. “J--Jack, it’s…. It’s your birthday tomorrow…! Oh, dammit, I--,” he stops himself to try and suck in a breath. “I’m s-so sorry, I-- I wanted to do something--”

Jack can’t help but let out a shaky, nervous laugh; even now, with a bullet in his body, and his blood all over the ground, Morgan was  _ apologizing _ , apologizing for being  _ shot _ , because he wanted to do something for Jack. There’s an odd warm feeling in his heart at this, though it’s overshadowed by the dread that seeps into his bones at the horrifying thought of what might happen if Jack doesn’t keep him awake.

“I know, I know,” he repeats. “Please-- Don’t worry about it, Morgan, honestly-- Save your strength and stay alive, okay? That’s what I want you to do for me right now-- for me, Morgan. It’d be the greatest--” He has to take a breath, forcing down the lump in his throat that threatened to spill out. “The greatest thing you could ever get me, okay? Just-- Just stay alive, that would be enough. Mercy will be here soon, okay?”

Morgan nods, and just tries to breath, keeping his eyes focused on Jack, while the rest of him focuses on not listening to the overwhelming force trying to pull him down.

After what feels like hours, seconds ticking away with each heartbeat in their ears, Mercy calls out from the doorway to the apartment. “Jack! Where are you-- Where do we go?!”

“Back here!” He shouts back, looking up at the entrance to the bedroom for a second before jerking back. 

“I’m gonna-- I’m gonna lift you, okay? It’s gonna hurt a little, but we gotta move you. Stay focused on me, beautiful-- Please,” he begs, scooping his arms underneath Morgan’s frail body and, in one smooth motion, picking him up from the ground. Morgan cries out once, putting his head on Jack’s shoulder and letting out a weak sob at the pain and stress. 

Mercy calls back for a team when they walk out from the bedroom, and a stretcher is brought over quickly. Morgan is wheeled out of the apartment, and Jack holds his hand all the way through, sitting next to him in the ambulance and staring down at his boyfriend with a fear that Angela had never seen on her Commander’s face before.

“He’s going to be okay, Jack. I promise,” she reassures, looking up from where she was working in the back of the vehicle to try and console the man. Jack just gives her a stony, pained look, and nods once.

~*~

The hallway outside of Morgan’s operation room is dead silent. Jack has been there since the beginning, seated in a chair across from the door with his elbows on his knees, hunched over and staring at the ground. Reyes joins him first, taking a seat next to him and wrapping an arm around his shoulders to try and provide some sort of comfort. Though he doesn’t respond, he’s grateful for the gesture and the comfort. Ana joins shortly after, placing her hand on Jack’s own and leaning into his side. Years ago, this was how the soldiers huddled together in times of war, keeping each other safe from the harsh battlefield. They hadn’t been like this since, due to the time of peace the world is in, but now they kept close to each other once more, supporting each other while hoping the man currently being operated on would come out okay.

Lena shows up sometime later, and takes a seat to the left of the door. There’s no pep in her attitude now, and she just stares at the ground, occasionally looking up to glance at Jack for a sign of life. Fareeha comes in around one in the morning, walking next to Jesse. Both of their expressions are somber, and Fareeha comes in close to put her hand on her mother’s shoulder to get her attention. They whisper to each other for an instant, and then both of them give Jack a hug before Ana stands and leaves with her daughter. McCree gets Reyes’ attention when the Commander looks up at the commotion, jerking his thumb back with a frown to simulate that it was time to go. He clasps Jack’s shoulder once in support, and the both of them follow suit with the other two.

That leaves Tracer, who is silent for another half of an hour before she asks the terrible, dreaded question that had been weighing down on everyone’s mind. 

“Is he gonna be alright?” She squeaks, voice trembling and quiet. Jack doesn’t answer for a minute, and Lena almost thinks that he didn’t hear her before he clears his throat.

“... I know he will be,” he rasps, with enough conviction that Lena feels a little more confident as well.

“I… I really do hope so,” she continues, rocking back and forth. “I know I haven’t been here for very long, but…  I really like the bloke, ya know? Both of ya’, even if you try to be a little rough whenever he has me over.” She laughs nervously, and Jack raises a brow at the comment, though he cracks a smile underneath it.    
“He was the first person nice to me here, really,” she rambles, biting her lip between sentences. “I had tried to say hi to a few more fellows, but Morgan was the only one to talk to me out’a all o’ ‘em. He brings me over for dinner every week, and he always talks to me when we see each other around the office. ‘E’s like my mum away from home, except I ain’t nervous to tell him anything. I don’t want to lose someone like that.”

Jack is touched at the confession, but before he gets a chance to respond the door to the room is opening, and out comes Mercy. She looks absolutely exhausted, and she slumps over with an exhale and a groan at the crack of her back. Both Morrison and Tracer look at her with wide, expectant eyes, and she responds with an easy smile.

“He’s resting, and he’s going to be fine. Jack, you can go back and see him first-- Tracer, why don’t you come with me to the kitchen? I’ll make us both some tea, and you can visit tomorrow when he’s awake.”

There’s a small complaint from the brit, but Jack doesn’t register it as he stands and crosses to Angela. He hovers in front of her for a second, and she tilts her head in confusion before he’s lifting her up and crushing her against his chest in a tight hug.

“Thank you,” he mutters, before setting her down and beelining into the room. Angela just smiles, and takes Tracer’s arm in hers before making her way out of the Med Bay for the time being.

When Jack goes in, there’s a one or two interns and technicians left who are cleaning up. They see him, however, and immediately leave, taking their tools and materials with them. 

Jack takes a seat next to his lover, and carefully reaches over to clasp Morgan’s hand. For a second, the brunette stirs, and he turns his head on his pillow to look at the soldier. He immediately smiles, expression peaceful in contrast to the last time Jack had seen it.

“... Mm… Hey,” he tries, voice laced with exhaustion. Jack chuckles, amused at the greeting.

“Hey,” he rumbles back, stroking his thumb over the back of Morgan’s hand. “How are you feeling, beautiful? You had me worried for a little bit.”

Morgan gives a little shrug, chest rising and falling with shallow breaths. “... Better, now that you’re here.”

Both of them are quiet after that, neither one knowing what to say in the situation. Jack is the one to break it, his voice cracking with his words.

“I am so, so sorry,” he begins, tears stinging the corners of his eyes. “I shouldn’t have-- I shouldn’t have let you go home alone. I should have been  _ with _ you, but-- I didn’t think anything would happen; I didn’t think you’d be in danger, but now you’r--”

Morgan interrupts him with a  _ ‘Shhh,’ _ squeezing his hand with what little strength his tired body could manage. “As far as I remember, you weren’t holding the gun-- You did nothing wrong, baby. No one could have seen this,” he coos, heart aching at the man’s unnecessary apology. “Besides-- if you hadn’t been where you were when I called, who knows how long it would have taken to get a hold of Angela…? Who knows what would have happened if you hadn’t been there with me while she was on her way?”

Jack just shakes his head, leaning forward and pressing his face into Morgan’s neck, unable to stop a few tears from falling down his cheeks and soaking into the writer’s skin. Morgan reaches up and cups the back of his head, holding him close as he shakes and tries to breathe. Oddly enough, he’s  _ happy _ , enthralled at the fact that Jack had been so worried over him. He can’t help the smile the graces his lips because of it.

“I love you,” Jack mumbles, pressing a kiss to Morgan’s collar and sniffing, collecting himself. He’s answered with a sweet, “I love you, too”, and it’s enough to push away the remnants of fear and despair that had clouded his mind for the past three hours. An unspoken agreement is formed between the two in the exchange, and Jack straightens up and presses a kiss to Morgan’s lips, shrugging off his jacket and undoing his belt buckle before shirking off his jeans. Morgan scoots over to try his best to make room(thanking Angela for giving him such a large hospital bed), and the larger man climbs over the guard rail and gets situated underneath the blankets. Morgan, unable to really lie on his side, does his best to tuck himself into Jack’s warm, large chest, and tangles his slim, smooth legs with Jack’s larger ones, rubbing his feet up and down the length of his shins to relish in the constant, radiating heat his boyfriend seemed to give off. 

In the morning, when it’s time for a checkup, Angela freezes at the doorway mid “ _Guten morgen!_ ” when she takes in the sight of the two men on the bed. It’s almost comical, considering how absurdly giant Jack was in comparison to Morgan, and even funnier is how squished they look on the bed. It doesn’t seem to bother either of them, however, with their sleeping faces looking as though there wasn’t a trouble in the world. Morgan stirs for a second, shifting and mumbling something in his sleep,  and Jack, seemingly on instinct, frowns and presses his nose further into soft, brunette locks. 

Angela smiles, and retreats back through the entrance with a tiny giggle. “Maybe another hour,” she relents, leaving the two alone in their own little world with a ‘click’ of the lock in the door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i hope i didn't fuck it up lol. also, more hamilton references.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! I've been wicked busy, and that's my only excuse. Enjoy!

__

Despite having been hospitalized from a gunshot wound that had almost proved fatal, Morgan feels absolutely  _ horrible _ for not being able to do anything for Jack’s birthday. He had bought him a present, but… He wanted to do something.

“It’s your first birthday with me!!” He whines, tugging at Jack’s hand like a child. “I wanted it to be special-- A party. A dinner.  _ Something _ .”

Jack, of course, found the entire outburst very entertaining. It takes a lot of effort to not laugh at his boyfriend’s griping, and even then he still lets out an amused snicker or two. Not to say that the thought wasn’t appreciated, but…

“I’ve gotten all that I could want from you,” he finally responds, giving the smaller hand in his a squeeze and accenting his smooth tone with the smug, satisfied grin that makes Morgan melt. “You’re here, alive, with me. That’s all I need, babe.” 

Morgan rolls his eyes, trying his best not to seem pleased at the sweet talk. “... ‘Still should at least get you a cake, or something…”

Jack mirrors the gesture, leaning in to press a kiss to Morgan’s cheek. “What if I ask you to make me a cake, hm? Or dinner, in general, when you get back and you’re feeling up to it. You’re Italian, right? I’m thinking… Pizza.”

Unable to help the snort of laughter that jerks out at Jack’s request, Morgan shakes his head with a smile and pushes the soldier’s face away. “Okay, okay-- Pizza, and a cake. I’ll see what I can do.”

“Perfect,” Jack purrs, leaning close once again to drop his voice to a rumbling, deep whisper. “And then, after dinner, I’ll take you to the bedroom, and eat yo--”

Tracer, god bless her, chooses that exact moment to burst through the door, her cheerful attitude permeating the room and completely smothering the mood Jack had been trying to make. She pauses just a few steps in, however, when she actually glances at the two on the bed, faces only inches apart. Morgan was a little red, and Jack just looked frustrated.

“Top of the morning to ya’, loves--!! Oh, bollocks, am I interrupting something--?”

Morgan squeaks in embarrassment with a cracked,  _ “No!”, _ at the exact same time Jack growls out a resounding  _ “Yes.” _ They look at each other, have a silent conversation with a few facial expressions and eye movements, and then the smaller one in the relationship smacks his larger counterpart in the back of the head before turning back to Lena with an easy smile. She laughs nervously, and shrugs.

“No, no-- come in. It’s good to see you, Lena. Nobody except for Angela has stopped by yet.” A quick look around the room shows that there were only chairs next to Jack. Lena chooses to stand.

“Well, I wanted to come last night, but ol’ Jackie here got first dibs! Angie said you were fine, but I still wanted to see you for myself! How’s it feelin’?” She gestures to his side, and Morgan sticks out his tongue in distaste. 

“Better than it was, definitely,” he begins, seemingly deflating with the sigh of irritation that comes after. “But, still hurts. I don’t know how my boyfriend does this for a living-- Getting shot fucking  _ sucks. _ It feels like someone’s, like, pressing really hard on my side all the time. Any time I move it feels like I’m being jabbed with a hot fire-poker. Heaven forbid I yawn, too.”

Despite the grisly explanation, Tracer laughs. “Sounds bloody awful, mate! ‘M glad I’m only gonna be a pilot, tha’s for sure!” 

The writer giggles, and even Jack allows himself a little chuckle at the joke. Lena beams at the both of them, a strange sense of home washing over her. A minute passes, and Morgan, with a slightly embarrassed yet still pleased air about him, clears his throat. 

“Jack, er… Told me what you said last night, while I was under, Lena. I was-- well, I  _ am _ \-- touched, to say the least.”

The confession is… Really confusing, to say the least. It takes Tracer a minute to wrack her brains for whatever it was she had said-- couldn’t be that many things, considering how little they actually spoke. Once she remembers, however, she jerks upright and tries her best not to feel silly. 

“Well-- I mean, it’s true! You had me over at your house, where you  _ cooked _ for me, the first week I was here! You know how many other trainees get that treatment? Next to none, I bet. Blimey, why wouldn’t you expect me to think of ya’ as me mum?”

Morgan shrugs, but grins all the same. Jack grunts, crossing his arms and leaning back against the wall. 

“‘Never said  _ I _ wanted kids, you know,” he mutters, raising an eyebrow in Morgan’s direction. His boyfriend shoots a glare right back at him, grabbing Lena’s arm and tugging her close.

“You leave my daughter alone, Jack Morrison. She’s fantastic, and I love her,” he hisses, reaching up and patting the top of her fluffy head. She chuckles, and throws up a peace sign in Jack’s direction. He doesn’t respond for a minute… But he cracks eventually, laughing at the two on the bed. 

“Alright, alright,” he relents, holding up his hands in surrender. “You both do what you want-- As long as Morgan says so, you’re allowed in our home whenever you like, Lena.  _ But _ ,” he cuts in, obligated to try and pull back on the excited grin both Tracer and Morgan were giving him. “I am still your commanding officer, and your employer, and you’re  _ still _ a soldier in the military. Don’t slack off.” Then, finally, with a telltale smirk that makes Morgan nervous. “... And stay out of the bedroom, if you know what’s good for you. I’d bring headphones for when you sleep, too.”

Neither one of them react, at first… Until Lena bursts out laughing, falling over with her head in the sheets and her hands clutching her sides. Morgan just pouts, but can’t help joining in with the girl currently losing it. It’s contagious enough that Jack laughs, too, and it gets worse when Morgan shakes his head and quietly mouths, ‘ _ Asshole’. _

The room is quiet again after that, all three of them settling down. Morgan takes a sip of water, absentmindedly scratching at his side before jerking his head over to Jack, who eyed him curiously. 

“Do you  _ really _ not want kids?”

~*~

Ana and Reyes come and visit later. The first thing Morgan is greeted with is a takeout bag, holding a container that Gabriel quickly tells him is homemade enchiladas. Morgan nearly cries.

“Thank  _ god _ ,” he moans, hugging the bag like it was a small animal. “Angela won’t let me eat anything, and I’m  _ starving. _ You’re a lifesaver, Gabe.” 

The man shrugs, giving a cheeky grin in response. “Just don’t tell her I gave it to you, ¿ _ síp? _ She’ll kick my ass all the way back to California if she finds out.” 

Morgan draws a line across his lips, shaking his head. “Not a word,” he promises, idly palming the bag. “I’ll have Jack hide ‘em when she checks in.” 

Ana hums and takes a seat next to Jack, pushing his hand out of the way to take Morgan into her own instead. “It is good to see that you are okay,  _ habibi _ . We would have come sooner, if one of us--” at this, she directs her glare and tone to the blonde next to her, who gives a defiant frown right back. “--hadn’t slacked off all day!”

Jack crosses his arms, looking like a child who refuses to listen. “I couldn’t just let him sit here alone all day! He needed someone to be with him. Sitting alone in a hospital room is boring as hell-- not to mention downright depressing.”

“He would have been fine,” she hisses, daring him to argue further. “We could have visited in shifts, and I’m sure Angela would have been able to do her work much more efficiently without you brooding in the room over whoever comes in.”

“You do kind of brood,” Morgan interjects.

Jack looks offended. “I do not!”

“You kinda do,  _ jefe. _ ‘S real spooky, too-- You give people this look whenever they come near ‘im, like you’re about to pounce,” Reyes teases, bringing his hands up in a clawing motion for emphasis. At this, the other Commander splutters indignantly. Morgan gestures over to Gabriel with a pass of his hand. 

“He’s kinda right, dear. Poor Lena thought you were going to tear her head off.” 

The glare he’s given  _ almost _ makes him feel a little guilty. Almost. “Well, excuse me for being a little jumpy considering, you know, you are in the  _ hospital _ because you were  _ shot _ .” 

Ana, thankfully, holds up her hand to pacify him. “Jack,  _ tafali _ , he isn’t being mean-- just asking you to ease up! Morgan is in a room with the three leaders of Overwatch, with one of them revolving around him as though he were the sun. There is not a single thing in this world that can harm him.”

There isn’t a verbalized response, only a small grunt, and Ana knows she’s won. Morgan blows a kiss in apology. 

With a deep breath, she turns back to Morgan, offering a gentle smile. “Now, I have news-- You get out tomorrow, yes? The day after, we are going to have a dinner-- for you, because you survived your first gunshot, and also for Jack-- he hid in here all day, and nobody got to do anything for his birthday. Which reminds me--” She stops, turning back and swatting Jack’s shoulder with an affectionate grin. “Happy birthday, Jackass-- Look at you, getting old just like me!”

Reyes snorts, smirking from where he was leaning against the wall. “Yeah--  _ Cumpleaños _ , bro. Those grey hairs I’m seeing?”

Jack rumbles a laugh, rolling his eyes. “Nah, you probably just can’t see from how your forehead sags. Nice wrinkles, by the way.” 

All four of them laugh at this, and the evening continues like that, with all of them telling jokes and enjoying each others company. 

~*~

When Angela unwraps the bandages to show nothing but a red mark, Morgan is pleasantly surprised. Jack looks absolutely livid, still seething over the fact that it even happened to begin with. That is, until Morgan looks over at him with the brightest of smiles, piping up with a cheerful, “Look, Jack! I had a  _ hole _ here thirty hours ago! The wonders of modern medicine, right?”

The expression makes Angela laugh, and the entire display makes Jack feel like he’s dreaming and suspended underwater all at the same time. The anger at whoever had decided to harm his boyfriend completely fades away, and all he can do is give a dumb-sounding laugh in response.

Love’s a funny thing, Jack decides.

Having already taken a day off, Jack has to get to work almost immediately. He walks Morgan out of the door, calls him a taxi, and presses a kiss to his lips before sending him off. The rest of the day is spent scrutinizing battle plans, and reviewing everything known about the new terrorist group called ‘Talon’.

Morgan’s day is pretty easy-- He goes into the office, makes a few calls, and does a little bit of writing. A part of him is still slightly paranoid, but he pushes it down and just tries to focus on getting things done. To distract himself, he thinks about whatever Ana had planned for the next evening. It had been a while since he had been to any kind of event dinner-- even longer since he had been to one for him.  _ ‘Well’ _ , he tells himself,  _ ‘it’s not just for  _ me.  _ Jack’s birthday got a little blown over, considering he didn’t leave me the whole day.’ _

Putting it out like that makes him actually think about how much Jack actually  _ did _ for him, and he sits back in his chair to appreciate his boyfriend. Not many people have someone who is as dedicated as Jack is, or loves them as much as Jack makes him feel loved. Just putting it into perspective makes him feel all warm and bubbly, and he grins to himself in his office.

Speak of the devil, and Jack shall send a text. Morgan checks his phone, rolling his eyes at the message. It’s a demand, sent in Jack’s ‘Commander Voice’. He rarely used it with Morgan, and the writer still treated him the same when he did, but he usually complied with whatever Jack wanted anyways. ‘ _ Don’t go home until I come and get you, got it?’ _ is what it said. Morgan shoots back with a snarky, ‘ _ So long as you’re actually on time,’ _ and gets back to work.

Thankfully, Jack isn’t late, and the drive over is a quiet one. At the door, Jack stops Morgan before he can put his key in the door, placing a hand on the smaller man’s forearm.

“We can stay back at HQ, you know,” he offers, mouth curving down into some sort of worried expression. “You don’t have to sleep here if you don’t want to.”

Morgan takes his hand in his, looking up with an easy half-smile. “I’ll be fine, Jack,” he reassures, squeezing once when he turns the key in the lock. “I have you with me, right? Nothing worries me, so long as you’re here.”

At least, that’s what he tells himself as he makes his way into the dark apartment. Morgan has never considered himself to be a very anxious person, but shadows are already dancing along the walls and in corners, and his eyes fall onto any figure that might be the size of a person.

At the door to their bedroom, he braces himself for what might be behind it, pausing with his hand on the doorknob… And with a breath, he opens it, only to be stunned by the same room as he’s always walked into.

“... They sure do know how to clean up, huh?” He jokes, letting out a nervous laugh. A few steps in, and he stares at the spot where, just forty-eight hours prior, there had been a body leaning against. He brings a hand to the mostly-healed wound at his side on instinct, wincing at the memory. Even worse, when he remembers what he did, his stomach churns, and he has to take a seat on the bed. 

Jack is immediately at his side, putting an arm around his shoulders and pulling him in. Morgan just sits in silence, staring at his hands in disbelief.

“... I  _ killed _ someone, Jack,” he states, spitting out the words like they burnt to even have come past his lips. “I took someone’s  _ life _ . That’s-- That’s what someone awful does, it’s what a  _ murderer _ does! It-- It’s what--”

“-- What I do,” Jack interjects, squeezing him once. “And it’s rough, I know-- But believe me, the fact that you feel this way means that you’re not any of those things, alright? You’re not me-- Killing isn’t something you can do. Not without hurting yourself, in the process.”

Morgan looks up at him from where he was held, eyebrows knit together with worry. Without another word, Jack cups his jaw and leans down, kissing him in an attempt to comfort him and ease his mind.

Later, when they’re cleaned up and stripped down for bed, Jack wraps his arms around Morgan’s waist and holds him like he’s the only thing keeping him tied to the Earth. 

“Jack?” Morgan whispers eventually, still wide awake from the stress that refused to leave his mind.

“... Mm?” is the grunt he gets in response.

“... Please don’t leave me.”

There’s a gruff snort of a laugh, but Jack holds him even tighter, if possible; nestling his head over top of Morgan’s own and taking in a deep breath of the brunette’s scent. 

“Never.”

Morgan curls up, withdrawing further into the embrace with a satisfied nod.

He’s never felt so safe, as he did in that moment.

~*~

They get out of bed late the next morning, neither one wanting to break out of the bind they’d tangled themselves into during the night. Morgan is the one who finally sits up, rubbing Jack’s chest in slow circles to rouse him. After a few stubborn seconds, he cracks open an eye and focuses on Morgan with a sleepy expression. 

“.... Hey,” he grunts, rolling onto his back and staring up.

“Hey,” Morgan throws back, patting his sternum and letting his hand slide off after. “Morning.”

Jack hums, sitting up next to his boyfriend and pressing a kiss to his forehead. “Morning, babe… You ready to get up?”

The columnist laughs once, leaning forward and settling his head on the man’s shoulder. 

“Yeah.”

~*~

Morgan is late to his own goddamn party, and Ana is sure to let him know about it.

Jack panics, naturally, worried something has happened. He finally relents and calls, and gets a chewing out for getting so worked up. When he finally arrives, the rented-out jazz club is in full swing. He’s greeted by Ana, who smacks him in the back of the head with a disapproving glare.

“I go through all of the trouble, and you don’t even make it on time?! Shameful!”

Apparently, the excuse of being ‘fashionably late’ is not the right response, as shown when she swats him once again. Morgan rubs the spot she’s assaulted, letting out a shaky laugh. 

“Okay, okay! I’m sorry,” he relents, holding up his free hand in defense. “It looks amazing, Ana, really. How’s Jack-- Tell me he’s wearing a party hat, or something?”

Ana grunts, rolling her eyes with a knowing grin. “Reyes tried, but it was torn to shreds before it even touched the brat’s head.”

The both of them laugh, only to be interrupted when McCree decides to appear. He tips his hat in greeting, that same confident smirk on his face as always, and Morgan snorts. 

“You’re  _ still _ wearing that thing? You are aware this is a jazz club, right? And a nice one, at that.”

The cowboy shrugs, and gives a crooked grin down at the older man. “What can I say? ‘S not me if I ain’t dressed right, ya know?”

Ana grunts, crossing her arms. Morgan shakes his head and reaches up, snatching it off the man’s head. He shoots after it with a  _ “Hey!” _ , but the writer just snakes it around in the air before settling it atop his own head.

“... It’s not even  _ comfortable _ , Jesse. How do you wear this all of the time?”

The teenager yanks it off, grimacing at the now-grinning Morgan as he stuffs it back on his long, unruly hair. “Tha’s cuz it’s not fer you to put on to begin with! Don’t touch the hat, mister.”

They talk for a little while after, and then Jesse excuses himself. Ana urges Morgan to go and find Jack, and then scurries off to go and organize… Whatever it was she had to do.

Morgan  finds Jack in a booth sitting with Reyes and Lena, both on either side of him. Him and Gabriel were laughing over something, and Lena was listening on intently, a mug of warm, brown frothy liquid in her hands. Morgan zeroes in on that as soon as he takes a seat.

“ _ Lena Oxton! _ I know you aren’t drinking underage-- And Jack! How are you letting her just get away with this?! You’re her parental figure, and her  _ employer _ ,” he nags, snatching the mug and sliding it away. Lena, with a cheerful laugh and a grin, just pulls it right back over. Morgan almost explodes.

“Sorry, mum, but Swiss law lets me drink at sixteen! ‘Means I can come in and enjoy a pint with the rest of ya!” She chirps, raising it up and taking a gulp. Morgan narrows his eyes, lacking anything to counter that with. 

“... Fine. But I’m watching you. Pull any funny business, and I’m cutting off the supply.” 

Jack and Reyes snicker, especially when he’s completely undermined by Angela coming in with a platter filled with several bottles, and a glass of deep red wine. They’re distributed with a smile, and accepted just as graciously. Tracer notes the bottles left, and raises a brow. 

“That’s smart-- Angie brought extras! Not that I drink that shite in the bottle, but you old guys have something more to guzzle down, I guess.”

Angela eyes her funny, and Lena gets self conscious. “... What’d I say?”

The doctor shakes her head, sending a bright, innocent smile over to the recruit. “These are not for them,  _ liebchen! _ These are all for me!”

Both Morgan and Tracer choke, and Reyes groans. Jack just looks ashamed of himself.

“... I take it you both have never been drinking with Angela?” Jack mutters, glancing off to the far wall in embarrassment. Reyes looks just as glum, slumping over the table.

“ _ Hay bruja _ can drink our asses under the  _ table _ , man,” he moans, raising up to take another sip of his beer. She giggles, and the sound is actually a little scary considering the topic. 

“Now, now, Gabriel! I do no such thing-- Don’t exaggerate.”

He shoots up in response, gesturing over at her with a broad sweep of his arms. “I don’t understand! Where the fuck does it all  _ go?! _ She’s so--  _ Tiny!” _

They all laugh, except for Tracer, who stares at Angela with a determination so fierce Morgan practically feels it radiating off of her slim frame. “... You’re on, Doc.”

She looks at her curiously, and Morgan is the first to get it.

“Oh, no,” he protests, bringing up his hands. “You are  _ not _ getting in a drinking contest, I won’t allow i--”

“If you insist,” Mercy pipes up, with a smile so sickeningly sweet that Morgan feels genuine fear. Lena is just egged on. 

“Alright! Loser has to go strip and run around Overwatch wearing whatever ‘ol Jackie has in his sock drawer!”

Jack jumps in then, his face already heating up. “Now, wait just a minute here--!”

“It’s a deal,” Angela agrees, looking a little fired up herself. “We start with the one we have now. Get a new mug or a bottle every time.”

Thankfully, just before they can actually start, the music that had been going on in the background stops, and Ana is tapping the microphone.

“Is it..? Ah, good-- Evening, everyone! Thank you all for coming. I’m very glad you could make it. This is Captain Amari, speaking.”

The room responds with  a small round of applause and she smiles, holding up her hands to quiet it down.

“Now, let’s begin with why we’re here-- As you all probably know, someone very dear to us all was recently attacked, by an organization that has been trying to get the best of us for the last few months. Morgan, who is with is so often that he may as well be one of our own, was shot by Talon two nights ago.” At this, her face turns very grim, and her tone lowers considerably. “This is not to be forgiven, and they will pay for what they have done.”

She brightens up again, and gestures over to where Morgan was sitting.

“But, I digress-- we are here to celebrate! He has recovered, and is already back to work. It was a wound worse than even some of us have experienced, and yet he is here today.”

There’s another round of applause, and Morgan takes a sip of his wine. Tracer claps him on the back, and Angela puts a hand on his shoulder.

Ana calms down the noise once again, laughing once or twice before continuing on.

“We are also here to celebrate someone else! Our very own Strike-Commander, who has lead us all to victory countless times, celebrated his thirty-sixth birthday two days ago! I’d say we should sing for him, but I’d rather not hear some of your voices-- And I’m pretty sure he would complain about it enough it would not be worth the satisfaction.” 

A few snickers sound from the crowd, and some of the people who had already had a bit too much to drink call out  _ “Happy Birthday!” _ ’s. Morgan reaches over to take Jack’s hand… But it isn’t reciprocated, because Jack is slipping out of the booth and heading towards the stage. 

“I’ll let him say a few words,” she finishes, handing him the mic as he approaches. There’s a large amount of applause, and a few whistles in cheers. He can’t help the sheepish grin that comes across his face. In the corner, Morgan fawns over the display. 

“.... So, thank you,” he begins, chuckling once or twice at the remaining noise. “Uh, yeah. Birthday, I suppose-- except, I didn’t come up here to talk about me. I came up here to talk about him--” Here, he points, forefinger falling directly on Morgan. 

“Morgan has been the main person in my life for the past year, now. We met under, er, shaky circumstances-- he said a few choice words about me, and I had to go and fix it. Naturally, we went on a date afterwards.” There’s a few laughs, and Morgan looks a little nervous.

“What is he doing,” he mutters. Reyes sniggers.

“I’ve never been a ‘dating’ kind of guy, truth be told. I’ve always kind of been someone to keep to myself. Morgan changed that-- Imagining a life without him is… Scary, and vague, and not something I’m sure I want to experience now that I’ve gotten a taste of what life is like with him in it.” 

His face grows solemn, and he looks over to the booth once again. Morgan feels himself growing hot.

“... That’s why, when I got to where you were three days ago, and I saw you just-- just  _ lying _ there… I’ve never been more terrified in my life. Nothing has ever shook me quite like the wake-up call that was, thinking about what it would be like if you just... Left. I don’t think I’d want to go on without knowing that you’re with me, which is why I’m doing this; Morgan, beautiful, could you come here, please?”

“What is he doing,” Morgan repeats, a little more scared now. Tracer nudges him in the side with a giggle, and urges him to get out. 

After squeezing past a few people, Morgan makes his way up to the front of the stage. His already-slim frame is drawn in tight, and his face is beet red.

“What are you doing?!” He hisses, low enough that the microphone won’t pick it up. Jack just winks at him, breaking out into a cheeky grin.

The mic is set on to the stand, and Jack reaches over to take Morgan’s hands in his. He stands there for a moment, as though readying himself for something. Morgan just tries not to panic.

“... Morgan, I want you to stay with me, forever and always. There isn’t anything that will come between us, and no matter how far we’re split apart, I’ll always find my way back to you. When I told you that all I wanted for my birthday was for you to stay alive, I’m afraid I lied-- Because I want you to live as mine, from now ‘till the end; So, Morgan,” he pauses, reaching into his suit jacket pocket and pulling out a box. He falls onto one knee, holding it up and propping it open to reveal a ring.

“Morgan Crux, will you do me the extraordinary honor, and live with your hand in mine, and marry me?”

Already, there’s a large amount of cheering. Morgan, after recovering from the initial shock, nods his head and rushes forward, nearly sending them both toppling over when he throws his arms around Jack’s neck. The guests all get even rowdier, whooping and hollering, and the music goes up into full swing once more. Ana had already joined the table of friends in the back, and when Jack slips the ring onto Morgan’s finger, they all erupt into yet another cheer, throwing up their drinks in a toast.

Back on stage, the couple share a kiss, before Jack pulls away to just hug his new fiancé, muttering into his ear a smarmy, “I told you I’d do it in public.” Morgann shakes his head,  tucking his face into the soldier’s collar and laughing.

~*~

“Thirty-two, thirty-three, thirty-four…  _ Thirty-five _ ,” Fareeha counts, pushing both sets of bottles and mugs further back onto the table. Lena is passed out on the booth, face first in the leather cushions. Gabriel and Ana had both left after their third round, griping about old age and needing rest. Jack and Morgan, after getting a healthy buzz from both alcohol and the events of the party, had glued themselves together and stumbled their way to the bathroom. Fareeha didn’t need to have a brain to know that they hadn’t pried themselves apart.

That left Angela, who was currently leaning against Fareeha’s side, still seated in the booth. Upon hearing the final count, she brings a hand to her lips, letting out a surprised  _ “Ooh!” _ and giggling once. She looked fine, but her eyes had a glassiness to them that betrayed her state. She also had yet to try and walk.

“That is a new record for me…! I’m so proud,” she giggles again, before turning her attention to the teenager next to her. “How many did you have, Fareeha?”

Having never seen Angela drunk, she’s surprised to see that the woman still was able to speak so smoothly. It would go south for her soon, however.

“I didn’t drink any,” she states, nodding once. “Mother would kill me if she saw me drink any, and from what she’s let me try, I can’t stand the stuff.”

Angela reaches up and places her hand on Fareeha’s bicep, trailing it down with a smooth glide of her fingertips. “Oh, Amari-- You are so stoic! We’ll have to loosen you up one day…” 

Shuddering at the touch, Fareeha gently takes hold of Angela and helps her stand. She wraps an arm around her waist and points them both for the door, and tries not to absolutely lose it. Ironically, Angela is merciless in her assault.

“... I’ve always liked that about you, Fareeha,” she whispers, leaning in and pressing her nose against the side of the Egyptian's face. Fareeha blushes, but doesn’t respond, afraid of what her voice will do if she tries to speak.

“It’s very… Attractive,” Angela continues, reaching up and pressing her palm flat against Amari’s chest. Her fingertips press a little on the tight fabric of the t-shirt, and Fareeha  _ gulps _ , focusing on putting one foot in front of the other. 

_ “Isis guide me,” _ she prays, somehow managing to lead the drunken doctor out of the club.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun fact I came up with a lot of the proposal speech in the middle of class and I had to excuse myself to go and get a drink because the gay was too good.


	10. Chapter 10

The morning after is filled with  _ pain _ . 

Jack has the biggest hangover he’s had in years, and Morgan(who, surprisingly, holds his alcohol much better than his six-foot super-soldier betrothed) doesn’t even get out of bed for as long as he can afford to. It takes a lot of convincing and begging from Jack’s part to have him begrudgingly shuffle to the kitchen to fry some eggs and bacon, seasoning it all and mixing it together in some large, fluffy pseudo-omelette. 

“I love you so, so fucking much,” Jack manages to groan when he comes back into the room, sitting up from his cocoon on the bed and taking the plate and the glass of water Morgan hands him. He takes a moment to inhale and revel in the aroma of warm, protein-rich food, and leans over to press a kiss to Morgan’s cheek before the writer can retreat back to the relative safe-space of the comforter. 

The god-awful migraine beating away at his head settles as he eats and sips at his breakfast, and the plate is cleared after a slow, quiet five minutes. He sets his dishes to the side, and then curls back under blankets, reaching over and pulling his new fiancé in for some quality spooning. There’s a small noise of complaint, which turns into a low whine of  _ “Stop it…!” _ when he wraps both of his legs around Morgan’s significantly smaller ones and latches onto the brunette from behind. Jack settles his head right in the crook of Morgan’s neck, and lets out a long exhale through his nose that makes Morgan giggle from the tickling air that brushes across his ear.

Jack hums out a quiet chuckle, pressing a kiss to Morgan’s nape and breathing in his light, sweet scent. “... You’re going to marry me,” he states, as though it wasn’t quite real before. Apparently, it still isn’t, because Jack says it again, this time in a more matter-of-fact tone. 

“You, Morgan Crux, are going to marry me.” 

Morgan finally opens his eyes and looks out of the corner he could see Jack from. “... What about it? I said yes, you know.” 

The Commander grins at this, jostling Morgan once. “Mm-- I don’t think you ever actually said the words, you know. You just jumped me.”

In front, Morgan is rolling his eyes, sending an amused smile up at the headboard. He reaches down and unhooks Jack’s arms from around his waist, rolling over so he was hovering over top of his fiancé.

“Do you  _ want _ to hear me say it?” he teases, sitting where Jack’s lap would be and straightening up. Jack just gives him this sleepy-sort of smile, reaching up to gently rake his fingers up and down Morgan’s side. 

“Hm… Yeah. I would, if you don’t mind.”

Morgan shakes his head with a chuckle, taking Jack’s head into his hands and leaning forward to press their lips together. Each word he says is punctuated with a peck, breaking up the sentence between kisses.

“Yes--” Kiss. “I-- ” Kiss. “Will-- Marry-- You.” Kiss. When he pulls away from the last one, he keeps his forehead on Jack’s, stroking his cheek with his thumb. “... I’d even take your name, if you let me.”

Underneath him, Jack laughs at the action and holds his lover by the waist, rolling him over so that they were both lying on their sides. “... Morgan Morrison? Are you sure?  _ I _ think Jack Crux sounds pretty badass, you know.” Despite his jokes, he felt strangely honored at the statement. It’s not exactly something everyone gets to hear-- Most marriages had the woman automatically took the man’s name, and Jack had never really looked into the technicalities of one between two men. For Morgan to come outright and say he wanted his name? It was… Very touching.

His thoughts are interrupted by a snort from his smaller counterpart, and he raises a brow in question. “What? I think it’s very cool.” 

Morgan snickers again, before settling into a small smile. “Mm, it’s certainly a nice one… But I like ‘Morgan Morrison’, more. Flows nicer, and I like the thought of sounding like I’m yours.” 

Jack stares at Morgan for a second, and then leans forward to kiss him again. The action is seemingly what Morgan expected and he grins, letting his husband-to-be crawl over him and whisk him away.

~*~

Hangover sex is good sex, Morgan decides. He should get Jack drunk more often.

The rest of the day is spent lounging around, watching TV. Morgan, as someone who drinks a fair bit more often, recovers quickly from his headache and sluggishness, and decides to go out to the store and get food. He’s feeling nice that day, and he picks up ingredients for a pizza. While Jack naps away on the couch, he sings around the kitchen while he works, muttering lyrics to a song that had been on the radio when he went out.

He doesn’t notice when Jack wakes up, and once again he’s surprised when large arms snake around his waist while he’s kneading dough. 

“Mm, good to see you’re awake,” he mumbles, focusing on what he was doing. The man behind him yawns, pressing his lips to Morgan’s ear and smiling. From the corner of his eye, he sees the soldier’s hand creep up to the food he was working with on the counter. Without hesitating, Morgan smacks the man’s hand away, and a high-pitched, hurt whine sounds from behind him.

“Come on…!” Jack groans, running his hands up and down his lover’s sides. “‘M starving, Morgan. Gimme a piec--”

His hand is smacked again. Morgan snorts out a laugh. “Hey! No touching. It’ll be done in an hour; you can wait.” 

Behind him, he hears a few cruel-hearted mutters, and he rolls his eyes before tearing off a chunk of pudgy, soft dough, wrapping it around a slice of pepperoni and a mushroom, and whirling around so he can put it against Jack’s lips.

“Here-- you can have  _ this _ . I  don’t want to hear anymore begging.”

Jack accepts the food immediately, biting forward far enough that he grabs Morgan’s fingers. It’s intentional, and he bares his teeth with a playful growl. Morgan raises a brow, and withdraws his hand so he can flick Jack’s nose with a chuckle.

After a second of chewing, Jack decides that, no, that won’t be enough of Morgan’s cooking, and he reaches forward to take another piece. Morgan drops what he’s working with, and turns around with an unamused glare. Neither one says a word, and then the columnist is pressing his hands against Jack’s chest and shoving, steering the larger man out of the kitchen.

“Babe,  _ please! _ ” He whines, only to pretending to dig his heels into the ground and resist. “I’m  _ starving! _ Let me just have one more bite-- Babe, c’mon--” One last shove sends him back into the living room, and he turns around and does his best to pout and look pitiful. Morgan stands straight, crossing his arms and daring him to try again.

“One more step in here, and I eat the entire thing myself while I make you watch. Understand?”

Jack rolls his eyes, sneering and turning to head back into the living room. “Yes,  _ mom _ . Whatever you say.” Satisfied, Morgan goes back into the kitchen to continue working. 

Forty minutes later, he’s just closing the oven after a status update that a hand comes down on his exposed rear, and he slams the door closed the rest of the way with a leap into the air and a yelp of surprise. The noise makes the offender choke on the drink he’d grabbed from the fridge, and Morgan whips around to yell at his counterpart.

“I swear to god, Jack-- you’re just like a child! Stop laughing at me, ass.” 

The man in question shakes his head while letting out a few stray noises, stepping forward and backing Morgan into a corner. His drink is set on the counter, and both hands go to grip the granite on either side of his fiancé. 

“What can I say? I thought it was done, and I came in to see you showing off the goods.” He sneers, and ducks down to press a chaste kiss to Morgan’s lips. The writer mentally curses his own weakness, and lets himself be lifted up and pressed against the counter.

“You are so lucky you’re hot,” is all he can manage, throwing his arms over Jack’s shoulders and letting out a quiet, shuddering breath. Jack’s grin is absolute  _ evil _ , taunting Morgan’s very being.

“‘S that why you’re with me, beautiful?” He presses another kiss to Morgan’s lips, squeezing and running his hands along the man’s inner thighs. “... ‘Cuz I’m hot?”

Morgan groans, gasping at the small nips at his lower lip. The question goes unanswered(he’s trying to remember how to breathe at the moment), and it’s almost a set match when Jack runs his fingers under the hem of his shirt, getting ready to lift it up and over…

The timer on the oven dings, making them both jump.

Thank  _ god. _

Morgan quickly pushes the soldier away, fixing himself and rushing over to grab mitts and finish making food-- determined that  _ this _ time, they would actually get to eat without interruption. Jack just leans on the counter, sips at his beer, and looks smug.

~*~

Tracer always recovers from her hangovers quickly. It takes a cup of coffee, a breath of fresh air, and a shower to have her feeling back to her same chipper self. 

Today, she uses her day off to go and buy a gift for her adoptive parents, purchasing a large bottle of some high-class scotch to celebrate their new engagement(though, from what little she remembers of the previous night, they probably already celebrated enough on their own). 

The future pilot almost drops the bottle in panic, however, when she hears a yell from the other side of the door upon approaching. After what happened recently, she automatically assumes the worst and bursts through the door, brandishing the alcohol like a weapon. 

She’s unsure if what she sees is better or worse. 

In front of Lena were her parents, perfectly unharmed, though in a bit of a compromising position. 

Morgan had, somehow, pinned Jack against the wall despite his smaller size, and was pressing what looked like a wooden spoon against his neck. Jack didn’t look bothered at all, instead amused at the attempt to stop… Whatever he was going to do. 

Neither one of them notice her presence, instead going on with the argument that they had been having.

“I swear to  _ God _ , Jack Morrison, I had  _ two _ slices, and if you eat that last god damn piece,  _ you won’t eat again _ \--”

The threat, combined with the utensil etching into his throat, and the smaller arm tugging at his bicep to try and stop him from consuming the greasy, loaded piece of pizza he held high above Morgan’s head, stops him for a split second, a little scared at whatever his typically-sweet lover might do to him… But the expression of fear on his face is quickly replaced with a smirk, and he makes up his mind with the thought that he had done worse, and Morgan had married him, so clearly there was nothing to worry about.

Morgan is forced to watch in horror as Jack moves against his grip like it was nothing, and drops a good two-thirds of the slice right into his open mouth.

It’s dead quiet after that, and Lena is a little nervous to see what Morgan might do over this.

After about a minute of no one saying anything, the silence only being filled by Jack’s quiet chewing and swallowing, Morgan backs off and retreats to the kitchen. The seemingly-victorious Commander grins at Lena then, giving a pleasant wave. 

“Good to see you, Oxton. What brings you over he--”

He’s interrupted by a clatter, and the smile on his face contorts to one of concern over whatever his future-husband was getting up to in the kitchen. 

“Hold that thought,” he mutters, holding up a hand and making his way into the kitchen. Tracer decides to follow.

She nearly runs into him in the doorway, due to the fact that he was frozen at whatever it was Morgan was doing. The brit pokes her head further in, and narrows her eyes in confusion over what she was seeing.

“You  _ wouldn’t _ ,” Jack hisses, lowering his body as though he was ready to pounce.

Without a word, Morgan uncorks the glass bottle he had retrieved, and lifts it to his lips.

“Morgan  _ don’t--!” _

He’s interrupted when a finger comes up to silence him, and the man at the sink takes a long swig of whatever smooth, brown liquid was inside. The taste is savored as he apparently swishes it around his mouth, and swallows it slowly. A relieved, satisfied “ _ Ah _ ,” is the first noise he makes, and Tracer lets out a quiet huff of a laugh. 

“... That’s strong,” is all that’s said, and it’s delivered with the most defiant glare Morgan can give as he extends his arm over the sink and upturns the bottle, letting its contents drain out. A look at the bottle tells Tracer that it’s some sort of liquor, and she hisses in secondhand pain. Poor Jack.

Speaking of Jack, as soon as the bottle is turned over, he lets out a noise like he’s been tazed, and jerks forward to try and grab it before stopping, as it’s too late.

A second after the alcohol is emptied down the drain, Jack lets out an animalistic scream, gripping the sides of his head in agony.

“ _ That was from  _ **_nineteen-thirty!_ ** ” he shrieks, throwing his hands to his sides in frustration. Morgan raises a brow, unamused.

“... Was it?” He hums, tone completely unbothered by the information. Jack shakes. Tracer tries not to laugh. 

“... I didn’t even  _ get any _ of it…!” Jack whines, and Morgan narrows his brows, daring him to continue. The blonde sulks, finally stopping his complaint, and Morgan is satisfied. He turns his attention to Tracer then, and gives her a disturbingly calm smile. “... Good to see you, dear. What’d you go and bring, hm?”

Lena gives a shaky laugh, and withdraws the bottle of fresh brandy. 

Morgan doesn’t say a word, staring at it in disbelief.

Jack is the first to react, lifting Tracer off of the ground and planting a huge kiss to her head, twirling with her in the air. Morgan can’t help himself at the sight, snickering and shaking his head. When Lena is set down, Jack scoops the bottle from her and cradles it in his arms, cooing sweet words to it like he would an infant. 

Suddenly, he turns to Morgan, and gives him the nastiest look he can manage as he marches out of the kitchen. 

“I’m taking this and locking it up, where  _ you _ can’t go and destroy it!”

He ducks out of the kitchen then, and Morgan opens his mouth to speak. Before he can, however, Jack is poking his head back in, and in the same angry tone he had moments before, he shouts, “-- And even though you’re mean, I love you, and I can’t live without you.”

Tracer and Morgan stare at the doorway for a minute afterwards, until Tracer perks up.

“I wonder how you two are married, sometimes.”   


~*~

Later on, they’re in bed, still giving each other the silent treatment. Jack is grimacing over some papers he had brought home, and Morgan is typing away at his laptop for the next paper issue. 

With an irritable huff, Jack throws down his papers and directs his frown over at his husband-to-be. Morgan stops typing, and looks over at the man with a raised brow.

“... I’m sorry I ate all of the pizza,” he apologizes, and Morgan nods once with a quiet smile. 

When it’s apparent that he isn’t going to get an apology back, he turns to his work once again and stews. It’s not like he exactly deserves one, but it still felt bitter.

… Until Morgan closes his laptop and crawls over, curling into his side. 

“I didn’t waste the nineteen-thirty,” is all he says, and Jack gives him a confused glance. 

“But I thought you--” 

“Nope,” Morgan elaborates, leaning up and pressing his lips to a strong jaw. “... It was cognac, not whiskey. The whiskey is still sealed in the cabinet, baby.”

Jack rolls his eyes then, grinning at the reveal and tossing his papers to the ground beside him. He scoops Morgan up then, pulling the smaller man into his lap. 

“I knew you were someone I’d marry,” he rumbles, kissing Morgan’s neck affectionately. “No spouse of mine would be stupid enough to waste the good stuff.”

The writer laughs at the tickling sensation, and brings up his hand to inspect the ring that glistens on his finger. 

“.... Morgan Morrison,” he tries, liking the way it rolls off of his tongue. “... I like it. Don’t you?”

Jack hums and lifts his head up once again, grinning. “...  _ Morgan Morrison _ , huh?... Yeah, I like it.” He kisses Morgan’s cheek then, laughing to himself. “Well, Morgan-- I love you.”

The way Jack says it sends a shiver down his spine, and Morgan leans into the affection with a content sigh. “And you as well, Jack.”

The response is satisfactory, and Jack reaches over to shut out the light, before rolling both of them over on the mattress.


End file.
